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THE  HEART  OF  A CONTINENT 


First  Edition 
Second  Edition 
Third  Edition 
Reprinted 
Reprinted 
Fourth  Edition 


. March,  1896 
. April,  1896 
. May,  1896 
. August,  1896 
. January,  1897 
. July,  1904 


1 


: V THE  HEART 
OF  A CONTINENT 


A NARRATIVE  OF  TRAVELS  IN  MANCHURIA, 
ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT,  THROUGH  THE 
HIMALAYAS,  THE  PAMIRS,  AND  HUNZA 
E $84-1 894 


EY  . 

COI,.  FRANCIS  EDWARD  TOUNGHUSBAND,  C.I.E. 

CNDIAK  ARMY 

DRmSH  COMMISSIONER  POR  TIBET,  FEONTIBR  MATTES® 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 


THE  HEART 
OE  A CONTINENT 

A NARRATIVE  OF  TRAVELS  IN  MANCHURIA, 
ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT,  THROUGH  THE 
HIMALAYAS,  THE  PAMIRS,  AND  HUNZA 
1884-1894 


BY 

COL.  FRANCIS  EDWARD  TOUNGHUSBAND,  C.I.E. 

INDIAN  ARMY 

BRITISH  COMMISSIONER  FOR  TIBET  FRONTIER  MATTERS 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 

1904 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 


MY  MOTHER 

THROUGH  WHOM,  AS  THE  SISTER  OF  ROBERT  SHAW 
I INHERITED  THE  SPIRIT  OF  EXPLORATION 
AND  TO  WHOSE  KEEN  INTEREST  IN  ALL  MY  PLANS 
AND  THE  SELF-DENYING  ENCOURAGEMENT 
SHE  GAVE  ME  IN  THEIR  EXECUTION 
I OWE  SO  MUCH  OF  WHAT  SUCCESS  HAS  ATTENDED  MY  WORK 


I DEDICATE 

THIS  RECORD  OF  MY  TRAVELS 


PREFACE 


SINCE  my  appointment  to  the  leadership  of  the  Tibet 
Mission  I have  heard  of  so  many  who  were  anxious 
to  read  the  account  of  my  former  travels  that  I consulted 
Mr.  Murray  as  to  the  possibility  of  publishing  a cheap 
edition  of  this  book.  He  replied  by  sending  me  the  proof 
copies  to  correct,  which  fortunately  arrived  just  before  the 
Tibetan  attack  on  my  camp,  and  the  tedium  of  our  invest- 
ment here  has  been  charmingly  beguiled  by  travelling  my 
travels  over  again,  and  meeting  once  more  my  loyal  and 
devoted  companions ; Wali,  the  Balti  guide  who  so 
pluckily  carried  me  over  the  Mustagh  Pass  ; Shukar  Ali, 
the  cheery  pony-man  who,  afterwards  promoted  to  the 
kitchen,  cooked  so  atrociously  for  me;  Rahmat-ula-Khan, 
the  Afghan  who  got  me  out  of  a nasty  scrape  with  the 
Kirghiz ; my  faithful  little  Gurkhas ; and  the  serious, 
ambitious  Pathan,  Shahzad  Mir,  who  has  since  distin- 
guished himself  in  many  other  explorations  in  Tibet, 
China,  and  Abyssinia. 

The  alterations  I have  made  are  merely  verbal ; and 
with  the  exception  of  the  omission,  for  the  sake  of  brevity, 
of  two  chapters  on  Chitral  and  Hunza,  which  did  not  deal 
with  travel  pure  and  simple,  I venture  to  send  out  my 
book  yet  again  in  its  original  form,  hoping  that  there 
may  still  be  some  who  may  find  in  reading  it  the  same 
enjoyment  which  the  writing  and  revising  of  it  has 
afforded  me. 

Gyantse,  Tibet,  May  30,  1904 

vii 


A 2 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 


The  first  thing  a man  who  travels  from  London  to 
Scotland  wants  to  do  at  the  end  of  his  journey  is  to 
describe  to  his  friends  his  experiences  on  the  way — 
whether  the  train  was  crowded  or  not,  what  the  weather 
was  like,  and  how  perfect  or  imperfect  the  arrangements 
of  the  railway  company  were.  It  is  the  same  general 
instinct  of  wishing  to  tell  out  to  others  the  experiences 
one  has  had  that  is  now  acting  in  me.  To  do  this  in 
conversation  is,  in  my  case,  a hopeless  task — because, 
for  one  thing,  my  experiences  of  travel  have  now  accumu- 
lated so  heavily ; and,  for  another,  I find  insuperable 
difficulties  in  giving  by  word  of  mouth  accounts  of  travels 
in  strange  lands  unfamiliar  to  the  hearer.  At  the  same 
time  I am  always  experiencing  the  wish  that  my  friends 
should  be  able  to  share  with  me,  as  much  as  it  is  possible 
to  do  so,  the  enjoyment  I have  felt  in  looking  upon 
Nature  in  its  aspects  wild,  in  distant  unfrequented  parts 
of  the  earth,  and  in  mixing  with  strange  and  little-known 
peoples,  who,  semi-barbarians  though  they  may  be,  have 
often  more  interesting  traits  of  character  than  others  in  a 
higher  scale  of  civilisation. 

I have,  therefore,  been  year  by  year  impelled  to  write 
out  my  experiences  in  a collected  form,  and  in  such  a 
way  as  may  be  accessible,  not  only  to  those  with  whom  I 
am  personally  acquainted,  but  also,  I hope,  to  many 
another  kindred  spirit,  who  shares  with  me  that  love  for 
adventure  and  seeking  out  the  unknown  which  has  grown 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION  ix 

up  within  me.  The  great  pleasure  in  writing  is  to  feel 
that  it  is  possible,  by  this  means,  to  reach  such  men  ; to 
feel  that  I can  speak  to  them  just  as  they,  by  their  books 
and  by  their  works,  have  spoken  to  me,  and  that  I may, 
in  some  slight  degree,  be  passing  on  to  others  about  to 
start  on  careers  of  adventure,  the  same  keen  love  of  travel 
and  of  Nature  which  I have  received  from  those  who  have 
gone  before. 

There  are  others,  too,  whom  I hope  my  book  may 
reach — among  those  thousands  and  thousands  who  stay 
at  home  in  England.  Amongst  these  there  are  numbers 
who  have  that  longing  to  go  out  and  see  the  world,  which 
is  the  characteristic  of  Englishmen.  It  is  not  natural  to 
an  Englishman  to  sit  at  an  office  desk,  or  spend  his  whole 
existence  amid  such  tame  excitement  as  life  in  London, 
and  shooting  partridges  and  pheasants  afford.  Many 
consider  themselves  tied  down  to  home  ; but  they  often 
tie  themselves  down.  And  if  a man  has  indeed  the  spirit 
of  travel  in  him,  nothing  should  be  allowed  to  stand  in 
the  way  of  his  doing  as  he  wishes.  And  one  of  the  hopes 
I have  as  I write  this  book  is,  that  it  may  tempt  some  of 
the  stay-at-homes  to  go  out  and  breathe  a little  of  the 
pure  fresh  air  of  Nature,  and  inhale  into  their  beings 
some  of  the  revivifying  force  and  heightened  power  of 
enjoyment  of  all  that  is  on  this  earth  which  it  can  give. 

My  book  cannot  claim  to  be  scientific,  nor  to  be  written 
in  any  correct  literary  style,  but  I have  endeavoured  to 
speak  out,  as  clearly  and  impressively  as  I can,  what  I 
saw,  what  I did,  and  what  I felt  in  the  little-known,  and 
sometimes  unknown,  regions  which  I have  visited,  and  to 
give  the  impressions  which  formed  themselves  in  my  mind 
of  the  various  peoples  whom  I met.  Some  portion  of  this 
will,  I hope,  prove  of  value  to  others  besides  the  general 
reader  ; but  it  has  been  a ceaseless  cause  of  regret  to  me 


X 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 


that  I had  never  undergone  a scientific  training  before 
undertaking  my  journeys.  During  the  last  year  or  two  I 
have  done  what  I can  by  myself  to  supply  this  deficiency ; 
but  amongst  the  Himalaya  mountains,  in  the  desert  of 
Gobi,  and  amid  the  forests  of  Manchuria,  how  much 
would  I not  have  given  to  be  able  to  exchange  that 
smattering  of  Greek  and  Latin  which  I had  drilled  into 
me  at  school  for  a little  knowledge  of  the  great  forces  of 
Nature  which  I saw  at  work  around  me  ! 

With  these  few  remarks  of  introduction,  and  with  the 
hope  that  there  may  be  some  among  my  readers  to  whom 
the  spirit  in  which  it  has  been  written  may  appeal ; that 
there  may  be  among  the  busy  crowds  in  England  some 
to  whom  it  may  give  an  hour’s  change  of  scene,  and  a 
momentary  glimpse  into  the  great  world  of  Nature  beyond 
our  little  isle  ; and  that  there  may  be  some  among  my 
countrymen  scattered  over  the  world  to  whom  this  de- 
scription of  still  other  lands  than  those  they  have  so  far 
seen  may  give  pleasure,  I send  out  this  story  of  a 
wanderer’s  doings,  of  the  scenes  which  he  has  witnessed, 
and  of  the  feelings  which  have  moved  him. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN 

My  first  journey  to  Dharmsala — Robert  Shaw — Preparations  for  an 
extended  journey — Mr.  H.  E.  M.  James — Decision  to  go  to  Manchuria 
— Arrival  at  Newchwang — “The  Ever-White  Mountain”  — To 
Mukden — Chinese  inquisitiveness — Tomb  of  Nurhachu — To  the  Yalu 
River — Want  of  milk  and  butter — Industry  of  Chinese  colonists — 

We  enter  the  great  forest — Mosquitoes — Sable-hunters — The  Sungari 
River — Its  sources — I reach  the  summit  of  the  “ Ever-White  Moun- 
tain ” — Kirin — Chinese  dinners — Chinese  manners  . po-gs  i 

CHAPTER  H 

MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING 

Start  for  Tsi-tsi-har — The  Sungari  again — Luxury  of  milk  and  cream — 

The  Mongolian  and  Chinese  frontier — Return  to  cultivation — Hulan 
— Torturing  of  P^re  Conraux — Pei-lin-tzu — A pattern  mission  station 
— Sansing — A Chinese  fort  and  guns — Ninguta — Chinese  carts  and 
carters — The  Russian  frontier — Hunchun — Transport  of  Krupp  guns 
— General  I — A Russian  frontier  post — Cossacks— Colonel  Soko- 
lowski — Russian  hospitality — Novo-kievsk — The  Corean  frontier — 
England  and  Russia  . . . . . . 21 


CHAPTER  HI 

BACK  TO  PEKING 

We  turn  our  faces  homewards — Kirin — Hsiao  Pa-chia-tzu — -The  Roman 
Catholic  mission — To  Mukden — 14°  below  zero — Winter  traffic — 
Mongolian  ponies — A frozen  mist — The  Scottish  mission  at  Mukden 
— Its  medical  work — Return  to  Newchwang — My  indebtedness  to 
Mr.  James — Remarks  on  Manchuria — Its  products  and  people — 
Christmas  Day  in  a Chinese  inn— Shan-hai-kuan — The  Great  Wall 
of  China — Compared  with  the  Pyramids — Kaiping — A procession  of 
corpses — British  navvies — The  Kaiping  coal-mine — Mr.  Kinder — 
How  he  constructed  his  locomotives — The  first  Chinese  railway — 
Native  superstitions  and  prejudices — Feng-shui — Tientsin — Ice-boat 
sailing— New  Year's  visits — Peking  . . . . . 40 

xi 


CONTENTS 


xii 


CHAPTER  IV 

PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG 

Arrival  of  Colonel  Bell — Preparations  for  an  overland  journey  to  India 
— Our  different  routes — Fascination  of  planning  a journey — Start 
from  Peking — My  servant — Liu-san — -The  Great  Wall  at  Kalgan — 
American  medical  mission — Views  on  opium-smoking — M.  Ivanoff — 

A Chinese  ex-naval  officer  — Chinese  ignorance  of  geography — 
Agreements  with  carters — In  the  valley  of  the  Yang-ho — The  winds 
from  the  Mongolian  plateau — Formation  of  cart-roads  in  the  loess — 
Mules — We  enter  the  “ Land  of  Gog  and  Magog  ” — On  the  Mongolian 
plain — Yurts — Kindliness  of  the  Mongols — Partridges — Chinese  sup- 
planting Mongols — Rapid  changes  of  temperature — Arrival  at  Kwei 
hwa-cheng — The  China  Inland  Mission — Their  system  and  hardships 
—How  Chinese  troops  are  levied — Mr.  Clarke — Kwei-hwa-cheng — 

Its  diminishing  trade — Its  temples — Mongol  bazaar — Caravan-men 
— Preparations  for  crossing  the  Gobi  Desert — Finding  an  auspicious 
date — My  equipment  ....  p<^ge  55 


CHAPTER  V 

ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT 

My  company — The  guide — His  extraordinary  memory  for  wells — Ma- 
te-la — We  start — The  In-shan  Mountains — Mongolian  pastures — 
Encroachments  of  Chinese  and  Russians — Messrs.  Collins  and  Co.  of 
Tientsin — The  Mongolian  camel — Warnings  of  robbers — Liu-san  and 
his  revolver — Deer  and  the  mode  of  killing  them — Mongol  temples— 
Aggressive  ravens — Approaching  the  Sheitung-ula  Mountains — A 
local  tradition — The  Ho-lai-liu  stream — Deceptive  distances — The 
heart  of  the  Gobi  Desert — Monotonous  marches — Characteristics  of 
the  desert — Temperature  and  winds— Extracts  from  diary — Wild 
ponies — Elm  trees — The  Galpin  Gobi — Hurricane  and  darkness — 
Partridges — The  Hurku  Hills — Bortson  well — On  Prjevalsky’s  track 
— A trading  caravan — Uses  of  a Mongol  boot — Valuable  gifts — 
Mongol  customs — A dust-storm — Curious  sandhills — Their  origin — 
Wind-formed  sand — Mt.  Barosakhai — The  mountain  system — Pre- 
paring for  attack — A glass  of  sherry — Man-chin-tol— Slow  progress 
— Glimpses  of  snow — Wild  camels — Wild  mules — The  Altai  Moun- 
tains— Refractory  camels — Ma-te-la  bolts  home — A strange  sunset — 
Mongol  agriculture — Ula-Khutun — Origin  of  sloping  gravel  plains — 
Ovis  argali — A glimpse  of  the  Tian-shan — Desert  of  Zungaria — Ovis 
poli  horns — Difficulties  of  Chinese  language — A period  of  depression 
— A scorching  wind — We  enter  Turkestan — Its  inhabitants — Turki 
women — We  cross  the  Tian-shan  Mountains — An  oasis — Last  stage 
of  desert  journey — Arrival  at  Hami  . . . • • 73 


CONTENTS 


xiii 


CHAPTER  VI 

THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND 

Inquiries  for  Colonel  Bell — Bazaar  at  Hami — A Russian  merchant — I 
hire  carts — A satisfactory  arrangement — Start  from  Hami- — A poor 
inn — The  desert  again — Tombs  of  mandarins — A dreary  land — A 
cart  as  a bedroom — Chinese  soldiers  and  their  ways — “ The  great 
English  nation  ” — -We  lose  our  way — Shi-ga-tai — Bad  inns  of  Kash- 
garia — Pi-chan — A pleasant  oasis — Curious  holes — A Turk!  inn — 
Wells  of  Chinese  soldiers — Arrival  at  Turfan — An  Afghan  merchant 
— A cross-examination — The  Andijanis — The  shops  and  wares — A 
Hajji — His  experiences  and  his  influence — Kokhandees — Living  in 
holes — Description  of  Turfan — Toksun — A hard  day’s  work — Kara- 
shar — Tunganis — Kalmak  encampments — The  Turks — Purchasing  a 
pony — A rescued  Mongol  lady — Fords,  ferries,  and  swamps — Hos- 
pitable Turks — Mosquitoes  again — The  art  of  cart-driving — Korlia — 

A reorganisation  — Doolans  — Kuche — Soldier  thieves — A regular 
horse-dealer — Traces  of  Yakoob  Beg — Kizil  — Cultivated  land — 
Aksu — Travelling  merchants — Rahmat-ula-Khan — Ush  Turfan  — 
Memories  of  Robert  Shaw — A Kirghiz  encampment — Curious  com- 
panions— Darning  my  stockings — Balls  of  curds — The  Kara-kara 
Pass — The  Syrt  country — A captive  eagle — Riding  down  eagles — 
Hostile  Kirghiz — Rahmat-ula-Khan’s  diplomacy — His  opinions  on 
Russians  and  English — First  sight  of  the  Pamir  Mountains — Artysh 
— Arrival  at  Kashgar — The  Afghan  Aksakal — “ Ropert  ” — MM.  Pet- 
rovsky and  Hendriks — Arrival  and  welcome  at  Yarkand  page  109 


CHAPTER  VH 

INTO  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS 

Chinese  Turkestan — Chiefly  desert — Oases — A land  of  extremes — A 
people  of  imperturbable  mediocrity — A suggestion  from  Colonel  Bell 
—Preparations  for  the  Mustagh  Pass  — Dalgleish’s  house  — His 
characteristics — Robert  Shaw — His  career  and  fate — Chinese  officials 
— Courtesy  of  the  Amban — A sumptuous  feast — My  guide  Wali — 
Start  from  Yarkand — Market-days — Kugiar— Tupa  Dawan  Pass— 
The  Pakhpu — Chiraghsaldi  Pass — Danger  of  Kanjuti  robbers — The 
Yarkand  River — Karash-tarim — Raskam  district — Disused  smelting 
furnaces — Khoja  Mohammed  gorge — Surakwat  stream — A bad  day’s 
march — Foretaste  of  severe  cold — Elation  of  difficulty — The  Aghil 
Pass — “The  other  side  of  the  hill” — A stupendous  scene — A pre- 
carious descent — The  Oprang  River — The  Karakoram — Suget  Jangal 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 

A discouraging  start — A precipice  blocks  the  way — My  Ladaki  servant 
refuses  descent  of  the  precipice — Myfirst  glacier — Ice-caves — Scarcity 
of  supplies — Difficulties  of  the  ponies — A possible  way  out — My  last 
pair  of  boots — In  a sea  of  ice — The  two  Mustagh  Passes — A choice 
of  evils — A critical  stage — Intense  cold  at  night — On  the  summit  of 
the  pass — Advantages  of  silence — A perilous  ice-slope — Drogpa 
gives  in — A sheer  precipice  to  pass — Courage  of  my  men — The  last 
to  descend — In  safety  once  more — A glorious  night  scene — Crevasses 
— My  last  bottle  of  brandy  broken — Baltoro  Glacier — Suffering  from 
want  of  boots — A ducking — We  reach  Askoli — Inhospitable  reception 
— Start  for  the  New  Mustagh  Pass — Superstitious  dread  of  the 
mountains — Cornered  between  two  glaciers — The  Punmah  Glacier — 

A rope  bridge — Wali’s  fear — The  Braldo  River — The  Shigar  valley — 
Baltistan — The  Baltis — A subject  race — I take  leave  of  Wall — M. 
Dauvergne — M.  Notovitch — The  Zoji-la  Pass — The  Sind  and  Kashmir 
valleys — Arrival  at  Srinagar — I try  to  civilise  myself — Meeting  with 
Captain  Ramsay — Congratulations  of  Sir  F.  Roberts — To  Murree 
and  Rawal  Pindi — Arrival  of  Liu-san  and  the  ponies  . page  i6o 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  RAIDS  FROM  HUNZA 

Return  of  the  exploring  fever — Disappointment — Sudden  order  to  go  to 
Hunza — Hunza  or  Kanjut — A race  of  raiders — Sir  Mortimer  Durand 
— Abbottabad — I inspect  my  Gurkhas — Murree — Gurkhas  are  not 
horsemen — The  Sind  valley — Cheeriness  of  the  Gurkhas — Zoji-la — 

We  enter  Ladak — Buddhist  monasteries — Arrival  at  Leh — An  old 
friend — Shukar  Ali — Captain  Ramsay — Kashmir  sepoys — Baltis — A 
goatskin  raft — Difficulties  of  transport — Coolies — Ponies — Donkeys 
— Camels  decided  on — Supplies — Start  again — Khardung  Pass — 
Mountain  sickness — Nubra  valley — Saser  Pass — Depsang  Plains — 
Karakoram  Pass — Absence  of  snow — Dalgleish’s  murder — Suget 
Pass — Shahidula — A deputation  of  Kirghiz — Account  of  a Kanjuti 
raid — Characteristics  of  the  Kirghiz  . . . . 185 


CHAPTER  X 

AMONG  THE  GLACIERS 

Waiting  for  the  subsidence  of  the  river — Bound  for  an  unknown  region 
— The  Shimshal  and  Saltoro  Passes — Supplies  arrive — Preparations 
for  exploration — Start  from  Shahidula — Khal  Chuskun — Sokh-bulak 


CONTENTS 


XV 


Pass — Kirghiz  Jangal — Kulanuldi — In  the  valley  of  the  Yarkand 
River — A swollen  ford — Ruins  at  Karash-tarim — Minerals — Bazar 
Darra  stream — Information  about  the  Kuen-liin  Mountains  and  their 
drainage — A climb  to  reconnoitre — Karul  on  the  Surakwat — Tradition 
of  Khoja  Mohammed — The  Aghil  Pass — On  new  ground — In  search 
of  the  Saltoro  Pass — The  Oprang  valley — A wall  of  Ice — View  of 
Gusherbrum— Among  the  glaciers — Peculiar  snow-clouds — Baffled — 

We  reach  the  Saltoro  Pass— A heavy  snowstorm — An  avalanche — 

A narrow  escape — Forced  to  return  to  camp — The  Sarpo  Laggo 
valley — I lose  the  caravan — Magnesium-wire  signals — Suget  Jangal — 

In  search  of  the  Shimshal  Pass — Mode  of  ascending  glaciers — Very 
bad  crevasses — A cul  de  sac — Comfortless  quarters — Return  to  camp 
— Beautiful  Ice-forms — Glacier  scenery — Crevasse  Glacier — Return 
to  Suget  Jangal  ....  page  zoo 


CHAPTER  XI 

A KANJUTI  STRONGHOLD 

Death  of  my  pony — The  Oprang  River — Want  of  maps — We  lose  our 
bearings — Constant  fordings — The  pluck  of  the  Gurkhas — Chong 
Jangal — A post  at  last — News  from  Hunza — Arrival  of  Turdi  Kol  at 
last — To  Darwaza — A robbers’  stronghold — The  Gurkha  naik  claims 
his  privilege — Plan  of  approach — A precarious  position — A curious 
group — A peaceful  ending — We  advance — Hardships  of  the  Hunza 
men — We  cross  the  Shimshal  Pass — A “pamir” — A letter  from 
Safder  Ali — We  return  to  the  Yarkand  River  . ...  222 


CHAPTER  XH 

BY  THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  TO  HUNZA 

The  Raskam  River — Letters  from  Lieutenant  Bower  and  Major  Cumber- 
land— I dispose  of  my  ponies — Captain  Grombtchevsky — His  equip- 
ment— The  Cossacks — Russian  soldiers  and  their  work — Inspection 
of  my  Gurkhas — Gurkhas  and  Cossacks — A pleasant  incident — 
Kurbu  Pass — Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir — Ilisu — Kuch  Mohammed  Beg 
— I go  to  Tashkurgan — Major  Cumberland  and  Lieutenant  Bower — 

The  Sarikolis — Fugitives  from  Shignan — The  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir 
— To  the  Khunjerab  Pass — Ovis  poli — Curious  shining  particles — A 
stalk — To  the  Mintaka  Pass — Chinese  official — Offended  dignity — 
Dismissing  my  Kirghiz — Their  greediness — We  cross  the  Mintaka — 
Across  the  Indus  watershed — An  interesting  valley — Misgah — A 
Hunza  Arbap — His  greed — Gircha — Visit  from  the  Prime  Minister, 
Wazir  Dadu — Gulmit — A state  reception — Safder  Ali — I take  a seat 
— A business  interview — Safder  Ali  and  Alexander  the  Great — The 
right  to  raid — A heated  discussion — Firing  exercises — An  undignified 
ruler — I leave  Gulmit — The  fate  of  Safder  Ali — Gilgit — Return  to 
Kashmir — I take  leave  of  my  Gurkhas  . ...  233 


XVI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  XIII 

TO  THE  PAMIRS l8gO 

Previous  travellers  in  the  Pamirs — My  companion,  Mr.  George  Ma- 
cartney— Leh — Messrs.  Beech  and  Lennard — We  reach  Yarkand — 
Unchanging  character  of  Central  Asian  cities — Arrival  of  Captain 
Grombtchevsky — A curious  dinner-party — We  start  for  the  Roof  of 
the  World — Tashkurgan — The  Neza-tash  Pass — The  Little  Pamir— 
Characteristics  of  a Pamir — Vegetation — Severity  of  the  cold — The 
Kirghiz — Aktash — Across  the  Little  Pamir — The  Istlgh  River — 
Alichur  Pamir — Ak-chak-tash — Hot  springs — Ovis  poli — Somatash — 

The  inscribed  stone  at  Bash  Gumbaz — Scene  of  the  conflict  between 
the  Russians  and  Afghans  in  1892 — Routes  to  the  Alichur  Pamir — 

The  valley  of  the  Aksu — Sarez — Murghabi— Russian  outposts — The 
Akbaital — Rang-kul — The  mysterious  Lamp  Rock — The  mystery 
explained — To  the  Kara-kul  Lake — Kizil  Jek  Pass — Kara-art  Pass — 
Down  the  Markan-su  to  Opal — Arrival  in  Kashgar — Winter  quarters 
— Chinese  gongs — M.  Petrovsky  . . . page  256 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR 

Official  visits — The  Chinese  Taotai  and  general — A Chinese  opinion  of 
European  civilisation — General  Wang — The  barracks — Discipline 
and  occupations  of  the  soldiers  — Rifle  practice  — Cosmopolitan 
Kashgar — Central  Asian  traders — Opinions  of  the  Afghan  Amir  of 
British  and  Russian  rule — Impressions  of  Russian  power — Effects  of 
our  retirement  from  Afghanistan  in  i88i — M.  Petrovsky — His  views 
about  England — About  treatment  of  natives  in  India — About  the 
Crimea— Russian  carelessness  about  learning  languages — M.  Blanc 
— Dr.  Sven  Hedln — -M.  Dutreuil  de  Rhins — Subsequently  murdered 
in  Tibet — P^re  Hendriks — His  accomplishments  and  privations — 
Arrival  of  Messrs.  Beech  and  Lennard — A Christmas  dinner — 
Monotony  of  life — Arrival  of  a post — Bad  news  and  good — I am 
made  a C.  I.E. — Permission  to  return  to  India — Arrival  of  Lieutenant 
Davison — His  adventures — We  start  together — A misunderstanding  270 


CHAPTER  XV 

KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 

I take  leave  of  Macartney — Departure  from  Chinese  Turkestan — Its 
murky  atmosphere — Pilgrimages  to  Mecca — The  Gez  defile — A 
temporary  lake — Bulun-kul — I part  from  Lieutenant  Davison — Little 
Kara-kul — A remarkable  lake — A grand  view — Tagarma  plain — 
Tashkurgan  again — Reports  of  Russian  force  on  the  Pamirs — Wak- 
hijrui  Pass — Bozai-Gumbaz — A party  of  Cossacks — Colonel  Yonoff 


CONTENTS 


xvu 


arrives — His  mission — Tent  of  Russian  officers — Compared  with  my 
own — A dinner-party — Surveying’  work  done  by  the  Russians — The 
Khora  Bhort  Pass — Exchange  of  information — Departure  of  the 
Russians — Colonel  Yonoff  returns  to  order  me  away— I consent 
under  protest — Subsequent  apology  of  Russian  Government — -I  go 
to  the  Kukturuk  valley — Lieutenant  Stewart  arrives  with  escort — 
Return  of  Lieutenant  Davison — His  treatment  by  the  Russians — 
Among  the  mountains  again — The  watershed  of  the  Indus  and  Oxus 
— The  heart  of  Central  Asia — The  Panja  River — Back  to  Bozai- 
Gumbaz — How  to  return  to  India  ? — We  find  a pass — A snowstorm 
— A glacier — Instinct  of  the  yak — An  icy  blast — Rough  descent — 

The  Karumbar  River — Gilglt — Heavy  snow  on  the  Burzil  Pass — A 
detachment  of  Gurkhas  snowed  up — Frostbite — The  Tragbal  Pass 
— The  valley  of  Kashmir  — End  of  another  journey  — Death  of 
Davison  ......  285 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  MISSIONARY  QUESTION  IN  CHINA 

Interest  in  the  question  of  missions  in  China — Admirable  work  done  by 
missionaries — Not  all  of  equal  merit — True  and  false  missionaries — 
Statistics  of  converts  no  true  test — Conversion — Growing  and  ex- 
panding work  of  Christianity — The  Armenian  atrocities  and  Asiatics 
— Spirit  of  Christianity  and  Asiatics — Fanatic  missionaries — Elements 
of  good  in  heathen  religions — Universality  of  religion — Belief  in  a 
Great  Spirit — Influence  of  personal  character — Progress  must  be  slow  303 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IMPRESSIONS  OF  TRAVEL 

Impressions  and  reflections  produced  by  travel — Nature’s  most  important 
messages — Life  in  the  Gobi  Desert — Manifestations  of  Nature — Men’s 
ideas  influenced  by  their  surroundings — Hunza — Conjectures  of  other 
worlds — The  stored  knowledge  of  civilisation — Impressions  produced 
by  mountains — Their  comparative  sizes — The  forests  of  Manchuria — 

The  crowded  haunts  of  men — Asiatic  races — The  goal  of  man’s 
progress — Intellectual  power  of  different  races — Moral  superiority — 
Dealings  of  Englishmen  with  natives — The  power  of  sympathy — 
Tenacity  of  purpose — Lieutenant  Fowler  at  Reshun — Development 
of  man  as  a social  being — Conclusion  . . . -312 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Colonel  Francis  Edward  Younghusband  (photogravure)  Frontispiece 

TO  FACE  PAGE 

Our  Party  in  Manchuria  . . . . . . i6 

Night  Scene  in  the  Gobi  Desert  . . ...  So 

In  the  Himalayas.  . . . ...  154 

Camp  on  the  Glacier,  Mustagh  Pass  . . . . 166 

Crossing  an  Ice-slope  on  the  Mustagh  Pass  . . . 170 

A Rope  Bridge  . . . . ...  178 

The  Sind  Valley,  Kashmir  . . . . . 190 

Valley  in  the  Hindu  Kush  . . ...  258 


Map  to  Illustrate  Journey  from  Peking  to  Yarkand  At  the  End 


THE 

HEART  OF  A CONTINENT 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN 
HAT  it  was  that  first  started  me  off  on  wanderings, 


V V which  during  the  last  ten  years  have  led  me  over 
so  large  a portion  of  Asia,  it  is  difficult  to  say  exactly. 
But  I think  the  first  seeds  of  the  divine  discontent  at 
staying  still  were  sown  in  the  summer  of  1884,  when  I 
had  obtained  a few  months’  leave  from  my  regiment,  the 
King’s  Dragoon  Guards,  then  stationed  at  Rawal  Pindi, 
in  the  Punjab,  and  made  use  of  them  to  tour  through 
some  of  the  lower  ranges  of  the  Himalayas. 

My  instinct  first  led  me  to  Dharmsala,  for  many  years 
the  home  of  my  uncle  Robert  Shaw,  who  with  Hayward 
was  the  first  Englishman  to  push  his  way  right  through 
the  Himalayas  to  the  plains  of  Turkestan  beyond.  Here 
I found  many  of  his  old  pensioners  — men  who  had 
accompanied  him  on  his  several  journeys  to  Yarkand 
and  Kashgar — and  books  too,  and  maps,  and  old  manu- 
scripts. I was  among  the  relics  of  an  explorer,  at  the 
very  house  in  which  he  had  planned  his  explorations,  and 
from  which  he  had  started  to  accomplish  them.  I pored 
over  the  books  and  maps,  and  talked  for  hours  with  the 
old  servants,  till  the  spirit  of  exploration  gradually 
entered  my  soul,  and  I rushed  off  on  a preliminary 


2 THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

tour  on  foot  in  the  direction  of  Tibet,  and  planned  a 
great  journey  into  that  country  for  the  following  year. 

That  first  wild  wandering  through  the  Himalayas  is 
one  on  which  I look  back  with  almost  keener  enjoyment 
than  on  any  other  journey  I have  subsequently  made. 

I had  been  in  Switzerland  and  seen  snow-mountains 
before,  but  only  as  a boy,  when  I was  not  able  to  wander 
as  I would.  Now  I was  free,  and  in  all  the  pride  and 
keenness  of  twenty-one.  One  march  a day  was  not 
enough  for  me ; I made  two  regularly,  and  sometimes 
three,  and  I wanted  to  go  everywhere  in  the  two  months 
which  was  all  I then  had  available.  The  scenery  of  such 
valleys  as  those  of  Kangra  and  Kulu  was  enchanting. 
And  then  came  the  excitement  of  preparing  to  cross  my 
first  snow-pass.  I had  pictured  to  myself  every  imagin- 
able horror  from  descriptions  in  books  (written,  of  course, 
as  I afterwards  understood,  from  experiences  at  excep- 
tional seasons),  and  I can  still  recall  my  disappointment 
at  finding  that  all  these  horrors  had  degenerated  into 
simple  heart-breaking  plodding  through  soft  deep  snow 
hour  after  hour,  with  an  icy  wind  blowing,  and  the  sun 
striking  down  on  the  top  of  my  head  and  combining  with 
the  rarefaction  of  the  air  to  give  me  as  bad  a headache 
as  I ever  had.  Then,  too,  the  feeling  of  disgust  and 
despair  at  the  sight  of  those  utterly  bare,  brown  mountains 
which  lie  beyond  the  first  forest-clad  zone  of  the  Himalayas, 
their  cold  and  almost  repellent  appearance — all  this  I re- 
member well,  and  the  rawness  and  inexperience  of  the 
whole  of  my  arrangements,  and  the  discovery  that  I could 
not  march  for  twenty  or  thirty  miles  a day,  as  I had 
imagined  I should  be  able  to  do,  with  just  about  enough 
food  for  the  whole  day  as  would  form  a decent  breakfast 
for  a man  in  hard  work.  And  yet  there  was  a delicious 
sense  of  satisfaction  as  each  long  day’s  march  was  over, 
as  each  pass  was  crossed,  each  new  valley  entered,  and 
the  magnificent  health  and  strength  which  came  therewith 
inspired  the  feeling  of  being  able  to  go  anywhere  and  do 
anything  that  it  was  within  the  powers  of  man  to  do. 

From  this  first  tour  through  the  Himalayas  I came  back 


1885]  EARLY  PLANS  AND  PREPARATIONS  3 

with  the  exploring  fever  thoroughly  on  me,  and  I plunged 
incessantly  into  books  of  travel.  Very  fortunately,  too, 
just  a few  months  later  on,  in  the  cold  weather  of  the 
same  year,  I found  some  small  scope  for  my  super- 
abundant energies  in  a three  months’  reconnaissance 
which  I was  sent  to  make  upon  the  Indus  and  towards 
the  Afghan  frontier  ; and  then,  after  being  attached  for 
some  weeks  to  the  Quartermaster-General’s  department 
under  the  late  Sir  William  Lockhart,  for  the  durbar  in 
honour  of  the  Amir  of  Afghanistan,  I was  sent  to  Simla 
as  an  attache  in  the  Intelligence  Department,  and  ordered 
to  revise  the  Gazetteer  of  the  Kashmir  frontier.  Here 
was  most  congenial  work,  for  it  dealt  with  all  the  ap- 
proaches to  that  mysterious  land  of  Yarkand  and  Kashgar 
which  had  so  fascinated  me  at  Dharmsala,  and  of  which 
I had  so  often  heard  in  connection  with  my  uncle,  the 
explorer.  The  fine  library  of  books  of  travel  in  every 
part  of  Asia  which  was  now  at  my  disposal  was  yet 
another  incentive  to  exploration,  and  many  were  the 
schemes  which  I revolved  in  my  mind  that  summer  of 
1885  at  Simla. 

But  the  Immediate  cause  of  my  first  big  journey  was 
Mr.  James.*  It  was  by  the  greatest  piece  of  good  fortune 
that  we  came  together.  We  met  first  at  a dinner-party, 
and  the  conversation  between  us  turned  on  Yarkand  and 
Kashgar.  (I  would  beg  my  readers  thoroughly  to  im- 
press upon  their  minds  the  position  of  these  places,  for 
their  names  will  frequently  be  mentioned  throughout  this 
book.)  I naturally  waxed  eloquent  on  the  subject,  and 
a week  or  two  afterwards  we  again  met  at  dinner,  and 
again  talked  about  the  same  places.  And  then,  after  a 
few  days,  on  one  Sunday  afternoon  Mr.  James  walked 
into  my  house  and  asked  me  if  I would  go  a journey 
with  him.  Nothing  was  said  as  to  where  we  should  go  ; 
but  to  go  a journey  anywhere  was  enough  for  me,  and 
of  course  I said  “Yes.”  I remember  sitting  that  after- 
noon in  church  at  Simla  and  looking  up  the  rows  of 
people,  thinking  how  every  man  amongst  them  would 

* Now  Sir  Evan  James,  K.C.I.E.,  c.s.i. 


4 THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

wish  to  be  in  my  place,  if  he  only  knew  what  I was  going 
to  do  ; for  at  that  time  I thought  that  everybody  must 
necessarily  want  to  make  a journey  if  he  could  only  get 
the  chance,  and  that  to  do  so  must  be  the  very  highest 
ambition  of  a man. 

Mr.  James,  it  appeared,  had  originally  intended  to 
travel  with  Mr.  Carey,  the  well-known  explorer  of  Tibet, 
who  was  just  then  starting  on  his  travels.  But  there  had 
been  difficulty  about  Mr.  James’s  leave,  and  so  he  had 
had  to  postpone  his  journey  till  the  following  spring, 
and,  being  without  a companion,  had  asked  me  to  join 
him  wherever  he  might  go.  This  act  of  kindness  is  one 
for  which  I shall  ever  be  grateful,  and  I shall  always  feel 
that  it  is  to  Mr.  James  that  I owe  the  first  start  on  my 
career  of  travel. 

Both  of  us  had  an  inclination  towards  China,  and  we 
at  once  decided  in  a general  way  that  to  China  we  should 
go.  It  so  happened  that  in  my  leisure  hours  I had  read 
up  a number  of  books  about  Manchuria,  Mongolia,  and 
North  China,  and  compiled  itineraries  from  them.  I was 
therefore  able  to  give  my  chief.  Sir  Charles  Macgregor, 
then  Quartermaster-General  in  India,  some  little  proof 
that  I was  serious  in  the  matter,  and  he  promised  to  help 
me  and  do  what  he  could  to  smooth  over  difficulties  about 
my  leave.  Then  followed  a month  or  two  with  my  regi- 
ment, during  which  we  marched  some  three  hundred 
miles  to  a camp  of  exercise,  and  took  part  in  manoeuvres 
such  as  we  have  in  India  only,  and  in  which  two  armies 
of  twenty  thousand  men  each  were  started  off  from  bases 
over  one  hundred  miles  apart,  and  told  to  find  and  fight 
each  other  how  and  when  and  where  they  could  ; and  at 
the  close  of  these  manoeuvres  in  the  spring  of  1886  I 
obtained  my  leave,  and  was  able  to  join  Mr.  James  at 
Calcutta. 

Our  plans  had  now  shaped  themselves  into  a journey 
round  Manchuria.  It  was  a country  of  many  interests,  and 
it  was  but  little  known.  It  was  the  cradle  of  the  present 
ruling  dynasty  of  China  ; and  the  few  travellers  who  had 
been  there  had  described  its  lovely  scenery,  its  noble 


THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN 


5 


1886] 

rivers,  its  fertility  and  natural  resources,  and  the  healthi- 
ness of  its  climate.  Reading  all  this  in  the  heat  of  India, 
we  were  fascinated  by  it ; and  as  its  proximity  to  Russian 
territory  on  the  one  hand  and  Japan  on  the  other  gave  it 
military  and  political  interests  also,  we  felt  that  time  spent 
in  such  a country  would  not  be  wasted. 

On  March  19,  1886,  we  left  Calcutta,  and  in  due 
course  found  ourselves  at  Newchwang,  the  treaty  port  of 
Manchuria.  This  was  to  be  the  base  of  operations,  and 
we  were  fortunate  enough  to  be  joined  here  by  Mr.  H. 
Fulford,  of  the  Chinese  Consular  Service,  an  officer  who 
spoke  Chinese  thoroughly  well,  knew  all  the  customs  of 
the  country,  and  was  able  to  give  us  that  assistance  which 
as  strangers  in  the  land  we  so  much  needed.  It  is  not, 
however,  my  intention  to  give  a full  detailed  account  of 
our  journey  in  Manchuria,  for  that  has  already  been  done 
by  Mr.  James  in  his  book.  The  Long  White  Mountain^ 
in  which  will  be  found  not  only  a description  of  our 
travels,  but  a fund  of  information  about  the  history,  the 
religion,  and  the  customs  of  the  people.  I shall  merely 
supplement  his  work  with  a few  of  the  impressions  which 
were  left  upon  myself. 

Our  first  objective  point  was  a mountain  well  known  in 
Chinese  legends — the  Chang-pai-shan,  or  “ Ever-White 
Mountain.”  This  fabulous  mountain  had,  it  is  true,  been 
visited  in  1709  by  one  of  those  enterprising  Jesuit  sur- 
veyors, who  seem  to  have  pushed  their  way  everywhere, 
and  compiled  a wonderfully  accurate  map  of  the  Chinese 
empire.  But  no  European  had  subsequently  visited  the 
mountain  to  corroborate  their  accounts,  and  much  romantic 
mystery  still  attached  itself  to  it.  By  the  Manchus  especi- 
ally the  mountain  was  held  in  the  deepest  reverence,  and 
I quote  from  Mr.  James’s  book  a translation  of  a poem  by 
the  Emperor  Kieulung  regarding  it : — 

“ To  ascend  to  the  primitive  source  of  our  August  Race, 
which  has  founded  our  Tai-tsing  (Great-dear  dynasty),  we 
must  carry  ourselves  to  that  mountain,  distinguished  in 
like  fashion  (with  the  dynasty)  for  the  size  and  for  the 
colour  with  which  it  shines.  The  famous  lake  Tamoun 


6 


THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

occupies  part  of  its  summit ; the  rivers  Yalu,  Hun  tung, 
and  Ai  hu’  arise  from  its  bosom,  carrying  fertility  over  the 
fields  which  they  water  ; and  the  fragrant  mists  which  for 
ever  rise  in  this  charming  spot  are,  without  contradiction, 
those  of  true  glory  and  solid  happiness.  On  this  blessed 
mountain,  a celestial  virgin,  a daughter  of  heaven,  tasted 
a fruit  to  which  she  was  attracted  by  the  brightness  of  its 
colour  above  all  others,  ate,  conceived,  and  became  the 
mother  of  a boy,  heavenly  like  herself.  Heaven  itself  gave 
him  the  name  of  Kioro,  to  which  it  added,  by  way  of  dis- 
tinction, that  of  the  precious  metal,  and  ordained  that  he 
should  be  called  Aisin  Kioro,  or  Golden  Kioro.” 

The  Ever-White  Mountain  was  reported  to  be  situated 
in  the  heart  of  an  immense  forest,  to  be  of  enormous 
height  (the  name  itself  suggesting  a snow-clad  peak),  and 
to  have  an  unfathomable  lake  at  its  summit.  We  were 
accordingly  fired  with  enthusiasm  to  penetrate  its  mystery 
and  ascend  its  summit,  and  on  May  19  we  left  the  treaty 
port  of  Newchwang  with  this  object  in  view. 

We  now  had  our  first  taste  of  Chinese  travel,  and  it 
proved  on  the  whole  by  no  means  unpleasant.  In  the  first 
place,  the  climate  was  perfect — mild  and  soft,  like  an  Eng- 
lish summer.  The  country  was  everywhere  richly  cultiv- 
ated, and  was  dotted  over  with  well-built,  pent-roofed 
farmhouses,  not  at  all  unlike  those  which  one  sees  in  Eng- 
land. We  travelled  in  carts — the  small  carts  so  often 
described  in  books  on  China — with  two  mules  each,  driven 
tandem,  the  baggage  piled  up  inside  and  behind,  and  our- 
selves seated  at  the  base  of  the  shafts  alongside  the  drivers, 
with  our  legs  dangling  over  the  side.  In  the  summer 
months,  when  the  roads  are  soft  and  muddy,  the  pace  is 
not  rapid,  and  the  traveller  can  jump  off,  walk  alongside, 
and  jump  on  again  as  he  likes.  But  in  the  winter,  when 
the  roads  are  frozen  and  worn  down  by  the  heavy  traffic 
almost  as  smooth  as  an  asphalte  roadway,  these  carts 
trundle  along  at  a good  five  or  six  miles  an  hour,  and  with 
a thousand  or  twelve  hundred  pounds  of  goods  will  do 
their  thirty  miles  a day  without  any  difficulty. 

Everywhere  along  the  road  are  found  inns  where  accom- 


ARRIVAL  AT  MUKDEN 


7 


1886] 

modation  for  man  and  beast  can  be  obtained.  The  first 
plunge  from  European  civilisation — which  in  our  case  was 
represented  by  the  house  of  Mr.  Allen,  the  British  Consul 
at  Newchwang — into  a Chinese  inn  is  not  agreeable  ; but 
when  once  one  has  settled  down  to  the  inevitable  rough- 
ness of  travel,  one  finds  many  advantages  in  it.  As  a rule 
a private  room  can  be  obtained,  all  the  necessaries  of  life 
are  procurable,  and  fodder  for  the  animals  is  always  ready. 
These  inns  are  generally  well-built  houses,  and  are  a real 
boon  to  the  native  travellers  and  merchants.  There  is 
usually  one  long  room  with  a low  platform  on  either  side 
and  a passage  down  the  middle.  On  these  platforms,  or 
kangs,  which  can  be  warmed  underneath,  the  guests  recline 
or  squat  at  the  low  tables  which  are  placed  on  them,  eating 
their  meals  and  chatting  volubly.  At  night  the  travellers 
sleep  in  long  rows  cheek  by  jowl  along  the  platforms. 
The  great  drawback  to  these  inns  is  their  dirt,  inside  and 
around,  and  we  often  longed  for  the  cleanliness  of  those 
Japanese  inns  which  Fulford  used  to  describe  to  us. 

At  120  miles  from  Newchwang  we  reached  Mukden,  the 
capital  of  Manchuria,  and  at  one  time  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment for  the  present  reigning  dynasty  of  China.  Our 
reception  there  Avas  not  a pleasant  one,  and  as  we  rode 
through  the  streets  in  search  of  an  inn,  we  were  followed 
even  into  the  house  by  a hooting,  yelling  crowd.  A 
Chinaman  has  no  regard  for  privacy,  and  these  men 
showed  considerable  annoyance  because  we  would  not  let 
them  into  our  private  room,  and  allow  them  to  stare  at  us, 
examine  everything  we  possessed,  feel  our  clothes  to  see 
what  sort  of  cloth  they  were  made  of,  and  question  us  un- 
endingly about  our  ages,  where  we  had  come  from,  how  long 
we  meant  to  stay,  and  where  we  were  going.  Even  when 
we  had  cleared  our  room,  they  did  not  desist  from  pester- 
ing us,  but,  while  we  were  undressing,  poked  holes  with 
their  fingers  in  the  paper  windows  of  our  room,  and  then 
applied  their  eyes  to  these  easily  made  peep-holes.  Looking 
up  in  the  middle  of  our  ablutions,  we  would  see  a mass  of 
eyes — just  the  eyes,  with  nothing  else  visible — peering  at 
us.  The  effect  was  peculiarly  irritating,  and  we  would  dash 


8 THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

out  with  furious  remonstrance  ; but  as  soon  as  we  were 
inside  again  they  would  come  back  exactly  as  before,  and 
we  had  eventually  to  resign  ourselves  to  the  inevitable. 

But  these  are  the  ordinary  experiences  of  every  traveller 
in  China,  and  I am  only  repeating  what  has  been  de- 
scribed a hundred  times  before.  We  were  kept  a week 
at  Mukden,  making  up  a caravan  of  mules  to  take  us 
into  the  mountains.  We  accordingly  had  time  to  see 
the  sights  of  the  place,  and  got  some  excursions  in 
the  neighbourhood.  Of  these  the  most  interesting  was 
to  the  tomb  of  Nurhachu,  the  founder  of  the  present 
dynasty.  These  Manchus  have  high  ideas  as  to  the  fitting 
resting-places  for  their  great  men,  and  there  are  few  more 
impressive  tombs  than  this  of  the  simple  mountain  chief 
who  raised  his  clan  from  perfect  obscurity  to  be  the  rulers 
of  the  most  populous  empire  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
Situated  in  the  country,  away  from  the  din  of  city  life,  in 
the  midst  of  a park  of  sombre  cypresses  and  pines  many 
miles  in  extent,  and  surrounded  by  a wall,  at  the  massive 
gateway  of  which  guards  are  placed  to  prevent  any  but 
Manchus  of  pure  descent  from  entering,  it  impresses  the 
imagination  with  a sense  of  dignified  repose,  in  truest 
keeping  with  its  object. 

In  Mukden,  too,  and  its  neighbourhood  there  are  many 
temples,  but  of  the  ordinary  Chinese  type,  and  of  no 
special  interest.  In  the  matter  of  temples,  indeed,  the 
Chinese  are  singularly  unsuccessful  in  inspiring  interest. 
I did  not  see  a single  temple  in  China  that  really  im- 
pressed me — not  one  to  compare  with  those  which  may 
be  seen  all  over  India.  With  but  very  few  exceptions, 
they  are  tawdry  and  even  flimsy,  and  one  never  seems  to 
meet  with  evidence  of  that  immense  amount  of  care  and 
labour  and  thought  in  their  construction,  or  of  that  sense 
of  the  beautiful,  which  characterises  the  great  temples 
of  India.  The  wooden  pillars,  often  plain,  and  the 
grotesquely  painted  walls  which  one  mostly  sees  in 
China,  are  a poor  substitute  for  the  stately  marble  pillars 
and  exquisite  carvings  of  an  Indian  temple. 

On  May  29  our  caravan  was  complete,  and  we  left 


iS86] 


ON  THE  BORDERS  OF  COREA 


9 


Mukden  to  travel  eastward  to  the  Yalu  River,  on  the 
borders  of  Corea.  We  soon  entered  a hilly  country,  and 
the  scenery  became  perfectly  lovely — hillsides  covered 
with  woods  of  a thoroughly  English  type,  oaks  and  elms 
such  as  we  never  see  in  India.  The  valleys  were  filled 
with  thriving  little  villages  and  hamlets,  and  on  the 
streams  and  rivers  were  glimpses  of  wonderful  beauty. 
The  quantity  of  flowers  and  ferns,  too,  was  extraordinary. 
Mr.  James  was  making  a botanical  collection,  and  in  one 
day  we  found  five  different  kinds  of  lily  of  the  valley, 
maidenhair  ferns  of  various  forms — one  especially  lovely, 
in  shape  like  a kind  of  spiral  bowl — lilies,  violets, 
anemones,  and  numbers  of  other  English  flowers.  It 
was  a perfect  little  country  that  we  were  in,  and  we  re- 
velled in  the  beauties  about  us. 

One  of  the  valleys  we  passed  through  was  that  from 
which  the  founder  of  the  Manchu  dynasty  had  started  on 
his  career  of  conquest — a peaceful-looking  little  valley 
in  which  were  some  avenues  of  magnificent  elm  trees. 
At  this  stage  we  were  much  impeded  by  rain.  Almost 
daily  now  it  rained  heavily.  We  fortunately  always  had 
either  inns  or  farmhouses  in  which  to  put  up  at  night, 
but  we  constantly  got  wet  through  on  the  march,  and 
the  going  was  often  very  heavy.  We  had  work,  too,  to 
get  over  the  ground  at  the  rate  we  wanted.  We  used 
to  rise  at  4.30  or  5 every  morning,  pack  up  our 
things,  have  our  breakfast,  and  then  hang  about  for  two 
dreary  hours  whilst  the  lazy  mule-men  were  loading  up 
their  animals.  On  the  march  we  had  to  keep  constant 
watch  over  the  mules  to  help  them  over  bad  places  and 
prevent  their  wandering.  At  midday  we  halted  for  a 
couple  of  hours  to  feed  ourselves  and  our  animals,  and 
then  went  on  again  till  six  or  seven.  More  than  once  on 
the  march  I remember  being  so  tired  that  I lay  down  on  a 
fallen  log,  propped  myself  up  against  some  branch,  and 
went  off  fast  asleep  in  spite  of  the  rain.  What  I felt  par- 
ticularly, too,  at  this  period  was  the  want  of  milk  and 
butter.  The  Chinese  and  Manchus  never  milk  their  cows. 
They  seem  to  think  it  disgusting  to  drink  milk.  They 


lo  THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

will  eat  rats  and  dogs,  but  they  will  not  drink  milk,  or  at 
any  rate  they  don’t.  And  we  missed  this  simple  neces- 
sary very  much,  and  eventually  had  to  take  large  quanti- 
ties of  oil  with  our  food  in  its  place. 

The  heavy  rain  naturally  swelled  the  rivers,  and  a dozen 
miles  from  its  source  a stream  would  be  unfordable. 
When  that  is  the  case,  the  traveller  has  either  to  cross  in 
one  of  the  native  “dug-outs” — mere  logs  of  wood  with 
a hollow  scooped  out  down  the  centre — or  wait  several 
days  till  there  is  a lull  in  the  flood.  This  last  is  what  we 
had  to  do  on  more  than  one  occasion,  and  in  some  ways 
I was  glad  ; for  it  gave  us  a little  rest  and  time  to  over- 
haul and  repair  our  kit.  On  such  occasions  we  put  up  in 
some  farmhouse  near  the  river,  and  here  out  in  the 
country,  away  from  the  crowds  of  the  towns,  we  could 
examine  John  Chinaman  at  leisure.  All  the  part  we  were 
now  in  has  been  colonised  by  pure  Chinese,  who  are 
taking  the  place  of  the  original  Manchus.  These  latter 
were  few  in  numbers,  and  had  been  drafted  off  with  their 
families  to  garrison  the  towns  of  China  proper,  and  now 
the  Chinese  immigrants  from  the  over-populated  or 
famine-stricken  districts  of  China  were  flowing  into 
these  Manchurian  valleys,  clearing  away  the  forest,  and 
bringing  year  by  year  more  of  it  under  cultivation. 
They  were,  in  fact,  doing  here  exactly  what  our  colonists 
have  been  doing  for  so  many  years  in  Canada.  The 
amount  of  work  they  got  through  was,  I thought,  marvel- 
lous. At  the  first  streak  of  dawn  they  rose,  had  a good 
meal,  and  then  set  to  at  that  heart-breaking  work,  clearing 
land  of  the  stumps  of  trees  which  they  had  felled.  Hour 
after  hour  they  would  work  away,  hacking  and  hewing  at 
these,  and  some  of  them  digging  up  the  ground  and  pre- 
paring it  for  a crop,  and  at  midday  they  would  stop  and 
have  another  square  meal ; then  return  to  the  same  old 
wearing  task  till  darkness  set  in,  when  they  would  come 
trooping  in  for  their  evening  meal.  They  were  for  the 
most  part  strong,  hard  men,  with  enormous  appetites. 
Millet  porridge,  vegetable  stews,  and  soups  were  their 
chief  food,  which  they  ate  out  of  bowls  in  huge  quanti- 


THE  YALU 


1886] 


1 1 


ties.  Their  houses  were  often  comfortable,  well-built, 
and  roomy,  the  roofs  being  the  especial  feature,  as  they 
are  in  all  Chinese  houses,  on  account  of  their  great 
strength  and  solidity.  The  houses  were  not  always  as 
clean  as  they  might  have  been,  but  still  were  on  the  whole 
far  better  homes  than  one  would  expect  to  find  in  the 
backwoods  of  a colony.  And  I was  a good  deal  struck 
with  the  energetic  spirit  which  these  colonists  showed  in 
pushing  their  way  through  the  forests.  A Chinaman  is 
always  known  to  be  industrious,  but  here  was  good  tough 
vigour  in  addition. 

At  length  we  reached  the  Yalu,  the  natural  boundary 
between  Corea  and  Manchuria.  It  was  a noble  river 
where  we  struck  it — three  hundred  yards  or  so  broad,  and 
ten  to  fifteen  feet  deep.  Its  sides  were  covered  down  to 
the  water’s  edge  with  forests,  and  at  intervals,  where  the 
ground  was  flatter,  were  patches  of  cultivation  and  a few 
farmhouses,  or  meadows  covered  with  flowers  of  every 
description — often  with  masses  of  stately  lilies,  some 
specimens  of  which  measured  six  inches  across,  or  with 
waving  sheets  of  purple  irises  and  columbines.  Then 
gliding  noiselessly  across  the  scene  would  come  a raft 
drifting  quietly  down  the  river,  and  sadly  tempting  us  to 
do  the  same,  instead  of  laboriously  plodding  our  way 
through  the  forest  up  the  stream. 

But  we  were  now  approaching  the  Ever-White  Moun- 
tain, and  the  interest  of  getting  there  would,  we  well 
knew,  repay  all  our  exertions.  As  we  neared  it,  however, 
our  difficulties  gradually  increased.  At  Mao-erh-shan, 
on  the  Yalu,  two  hundred  and  eighty  miles  from  Mukden, 
where  we  had  expected  to  get  all  ordinary  supplies,  we 
found  hardly  anything.  For  a day  or  two  before  reaching 
this  place,  we  had  been  living  upon  very  short  rations, 
and  had  been  looking  forward  to  getting  a good  square 
meal  of  meat  when  we  arrived  there.  But  only  some 
uneatable  pork  was  to  be  had,  and  we  were  obliged  to 
content  ourselves,  in  the  meat  line,  with  an  egg  curry, 
made  of  salted  eggs  six  months  old,  and  only  eatable  at 
all  with  the  aid  of  a very  strong  curry. 


12  THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

We  now  had  to  leave  the  valley  of  the  Yalu  and  plunge 
into  the  heart  of  the  forest  which  surrounded  the  White 
Mountain.  Day  after  day  we  ascended  the  ridges  which 
run  down  from  it — up  one  side  of  the  ridge  and  down  the 
other,  then  up  again,  and  so  on  unendingly.  We  never 
saw  anything  but  the  trunks  of  the  trees.  Even  from  the 
summits  of  the  ridges  nothing  was  to  be  seen  ; we  were 
simply  swamped  in  forest,  and  could  not  see  out  of  it. 
I know  of  nothing  more  depressing  than  this,  to  struggle 
on,  forcing  a way  for  the  mules  through  the  undergrowth, 
and  hauling  and  shoving  them  up  the  slopes  and  rocky 
gullies,  and  then  to  arrive  at  the  top  and  find  ourselves 
still  hedged  in  by  trunks  of  trees,  and  able  to  see  nothing 
whatever  beyond.  We  were,  too,  afflicted  by  a scourge 
of  mosquitoes  and  midges.  In  no  part  of  India  have 
I felt  them  so  much.  In  the  daytime  we  had  the  midges 
driving  us  wild  with  their  irritating  pricks,  and  at  nights 
the  mosquitoes  in  clouds.  By  simply  closing  the  hand 
a dozen  of  them  could  be  caught  at  any  time.  Of  course 
we  had  to  wear  veils  the  whole  day  long,  and  keep  our 
hands  in  our  pockets  or  wrapped  round  with  cloth  when- 
ever we  could  ; but  even  then  we  suffered  badly,  and 
washing  was  a positive  torture.  Gad-flies  were  another 
form  of  torture  invented  for  these  parts.  They  would 
attack  us  pretty  constantly,  but  it  was  chiefly  to  the  poor 
animals  that  they  directed  their  attention,  and  the  wretched 
mules  were  often  covered  with  blood  and  driven  wild  by 
their  attacks. 

At  night  we  would  put  up  in  a sable-hunter’s  hut. 
These  are  met  with  every  twelve  or  fifteen  miles,  and  each 
is  the  headquarters  of  a party  of  hunters  who  trap  sables 
and  also  seek  the  ginseng  root — the  root  of  a plant  upon 
which  the  Chinese  set  great  store  for  medicinal  purposes. 
These  huts  were  suitable  enough  for  the  small  parties  who 
ordinarily  inhabited  them,  but  when  our  large  party  came 
in  addition  they  were  crammed  tight.  We  had  to  sleep 
in  them,  for  to  sleep  outside  amongst  the  swarms  of  mos- 
quitoes and  in  the  damp  of  the  forest  was  almost  im- 
possible. We  therefore  packed  ourselves  into  the  huts. 


i886]  THE  GINSENG  PLANT-HUNTERS 


13 


and  were  sometimes  so  tightly  squeezed  in  the  row  on  the 
kang,  that  we  had  to  lie  heads  and  tails  with  the  China- 
men, to  get  ourselves  all  in.  We  had  also  to  keep  a fire 
burning  to  raise  smoke  for  the  purpose  of  driving  off  the 
mosquitoes  ; so  the  heat  on  a summer’s  night  and  the  state 
of  the  atmosphere  inside  may  be  imagined  ! We,  of 
course,  got  quite  inadequate  rest,  and  that  period  of  our 
journey  was  a very  trying  one. 

These  hunters  received  us,  as  a rule,  very  well,  but 
theirs  was  not  an  existence  which  we  could  envy.  The 
sable-hunters  had  a certain  amount  of  excitement.  They 
would  set  their  traps  all  over  the  forest,  go  their  rounds  to 
examine  them,  and  now  and  then,  at  rare  intervals,  find 
they  had  caught  something.  But  the  ginseng  plant 
seekers  would  wander  through  the  forest  day  after  day 
and  all  day  long,  and  if  they  found  one  plant  in  the 
season  they  would  be  content.  This  plant  would  be 
worth  perhaps  ;^i5,  for  the  Chinese  believe  the  genuine 
wild  plant  to  have  the  most  wonderful  properties. 

A remarkable  point  about  these  men  is  the  strict  code  of 
honour  they  have  amongst  themselves.  At  one  place,  for 
instance,  we  noticed  a clearing  made  in  the  undergrowth 
of  the  forest  round  a small  plant  not  far  from  the  track. 
This  proved  to  be  one  of  these  much-sought-after  plants. 
It  had  been  discovered  by  a man,  but  as  it  was  not  fully 
grown,  it  had  been  left  there  to  mature,  and  the  standard 
of  honour  was  so  strict  among  these  people,  that,  in  spite 
of  the  value  of  the  plant  and  the  ease  with  which  it  might 
have  been  carried  away,  no  one  would  touch  it. 

Travelling  on  through  the  forest,  we  reached  one  of  the 
branches  of  the  great  Sungari  River— an  affluent  of  the 
river  Amur,  and,  at  its  junction,  of  even  greater  volume 
than  that  river.  This  stream  we  now  ascended,  as  it  was 
said  to  flow  down  from  the  Ever-White  Mountain  we 
were  in  search  of;  but  after  two  days’  travelling  we  were 
brought  to  a standstill,  as  regards  mule-carriage,  by  a 
bog,  through  which  it  was  impossible  to  take  any  animal. 
One  man  for  carrying  loads  was  all  we  could  secure,  and 
so  we  had  to  reduce  our  baggage  to  its  very  minimum. 


14  THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

and  each  one  carry  his  own,  while  the  one  porter  carried 
such  supplies  as  we  should  be  unable  to  obtain  on  ahead  ; 
for  though  we  heard  of  there  being  one  or  two  sable- 
hunters’  huts,  the  owners  of  these  were  said  to  be  almost 
starving  themselves  for  want  of  food,  there  having  been 
some  hitch  about  the  arrival  of  the  fresh  stock  of  provisions 
for  the  year.  Shouldering  our  loads,  we  pushed  our  way 
through  the  incessant  bogs  which  now  filled  up  the  valley, 
and  at  night  put  up  in  the  huts.  This  was  the  hardest 
piece  of  work  we  had  done,  for  we  covered  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  miles  a day,  and  that  through  ground  where  we 
frequently  sank  up  to  our  knees  and  never  felt  sure  of  our 
footing,  and  with  a load  on  our  backs  to  make  it  still  more 
wearisome.  Added  to  this  was  the  further  trial  that  we 
had  to  place  ourselves  on  half-rations.  Ever  since  we 
had  entered  the  forest  we  had  found  a difficulty  in  obtain- 
ing supplies  ; flour  was  very  scarce,  so  that  we  had 
to  live  principally  upon  millet  porridge,  and  meat  was 
not  forthcoming  as  often  as  we  should  have  liked  after 
our  hard  work.  But  now,  as  we  approached  the  moun- 
tain, supplies  became  scarcer  still,  and  after  we  had  left 
the  mules,  and  consequently  while  we  were  doing  our 
hardest  work,  we  were  on  fare  which  made  me  at  least 
so  ravenous  that  I more  than  once  went  round  to  the 
hunters’  cooking-pots  and  scraped  out  all  I could  from  the 
inside  after  they  had  finished  their  meal.  On  three  separ- 
ate occasions  I remember  James,  Fulford,  and  myself  all 
sitting  down  to  dine  off  one  partridge  between  us  ; this, 
with  a little  palatable  soup  and  a scone,  was  all  we  had 
after  our  trying  march. 

We  had,  however,  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  we 
now  really  were  approaching  the  mysterious  White  Moun- 
tain. As  we  climbed  higher  the  forest  began  to  open  out, 
and  on  the  fourth  day  after  leaving  the  mules  we  found 
ourselves  at  its  base,  and  saw  it  rising  up  above  the  forest. 
It  was  with  a sigh  of  infinite  relief  that  we  looked  upon  it, 
but  I cannot  say  that,  here  in  its  solid  reality,  it  inspired 
us  with  awe  commensurate  with  the  mystery  which  had 
been  attached  to  it.  It  certainly  rose  high  above  all  the 


i886]  ASCENDING  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAIN  15 

surrounding-  forest-clad  hills,  and  perhaps  in  the  British 
Isles  would  pass  muster  as  a mountain  ; but  it  was  not  the 
snow-clad  monarch  we  had  expected  to  see,  and  it  after- 
wards proved  to  be  but  eight  thousand  feet  in  height. 
Still,  here  the  mountain  was,  and  what  it  lacked  in 
grandeur  was  made  up  for  in  beauty,  for  its  sides  were 
covered  with  the  most  exquisite  meadows  and  copses.  In 
Kashmir  there  are  many  beautiful  meadows,  but  none 
to  compare  with  those  of  the  Ever-White  Mountain. 
These  were  such  as  I have  never  seen  equalled.  Masses 
of  colour,  flowers  of  every  kind,  whole  meadows  of  irises 
and  tiger-lilies  and  columbines,  and  graceful,  stately  fir 
trees  scattered  about  to  relieve  any  excess  of  colour  and 
add  to  the  beauty  of  the  whole.  And,  looking  closer,  we 
found  ferns  of  the  most  delicate  tracery,  deep  blue  gentians, 
golden  buttercups,  azaleas,  orchids,  and  numbers  of  other 
flowers  of  every  type  of  beauty,  all  in  their  freshest  sum- 
mer bloom. 

The  following  day  we  visited  some  springs  which  form 
one  of  the  sources  of  the  Sungari,  and  on  the  next  we 
ascended  the  mountain.  The  trees  became  fewer  and 
fewer,  and  we  emerged  on  to  open  slopes  covered  with 
long  grass  and  dwarf  azaleas,  heather,  yellow  poppies, 
and  gentians.  Except  the  steepness  there  was  no  difficulty 
in  the  ascent,  and  we  made  for  a saddle  between  two 
rugged  peaks  which  crowned  the  mountain.  We  pressed 
eagerly  on  to  reach  this,  as  from  it  we  hoped  to  look  out 
beyond,  far  away  over  Corea  on  the  opposite  side.  At 
last  we  reached  the  saddle,  and  then,  instead  of  the  panor- 
ama we  had  expected,  we  looked  down  in  astonishment  on 
a most  beautiful  lake  in  a setting  of  weird,  fantastic  cliff's 
just  at  our  feet.  We  were,  in  fact,  on  an  extinct  volcano, 
and  this  lake  filled  up  what  had  once  been  its  crater.  The 
waters  were  of  a peculiarly  deep  clear  blue,  and  situated 
here  at  the  very  summit  of  a mountain,  and  held  in  on 
every  side  by  rugged  precipitous  cliff's,  this  lake  was 
particularly  striking.  We  tried  to  descend  to  its  brim, 
but  could  find  no  way  down  the  cliff's  ; so,  after  boiling  a 
thermometer  to  ascertain  the  altitude,  I set  out  to  ascend 


i6  THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

the  highest  of  the  rocky  peaks  which  formed  a fringe 
around  it.  The  climb  was  a stiff  one,  but  I succeeded 
in  reaching  the  summit — the  very  top  of  the  Ever-White 
Mountain — and  from  there  I looked  out  over  a billowy 
expanse  of  forest-clad  hills  stretching  away  on  every  side, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  in  the  direction  of  Manchuria, 
and  as  far  as  one  could  see  over  Corea  ; nothing  but 
forest,  except  where  the  lake  lay  below  me  like  a sapphire 
in  a setting  of  rock,  and  it  was  only  by  this  and  by 
occasional  glints  of  the  river  that  the  monotonous  green 
was  broken. 

But  the  lake  was  the  saving  feature.  It  appeared  to  be 
about  six  or  seven  miles  in  circumference,  and  at  its  farther 
end  was  an  outlet,  from  which  flowed  the  main  branch  of 
the  Sungari.  This,  then,  was  the  source  of  that  noble 
river  which,  a few  hundred  miles  lower  down,  we  after- 
wards found  to  be  over  a mile  broad,  and  which  has 
claims,  indeed,  to  be  considered  the  main  branch  of  the 
great  Amur — a magnificent  river  excelled  in  size  and 
grandeur  by  few  others  in  the  world. 

I rejoined  my  companions,  and  we  set  off  rapidly 
down  the  mountain-side,  delighted  at  having  successfully 
achieved  the  object  of  our  journey,  and  with  the  feeling 
that  all  our  toil  had  not  been  in  vain.  The  Ever-White 
Mountain  was  not  white  with  snow,  and  therefore  not  as 
lofty  as  we  had  been  led  to  expect ; it  was  white,  or 
partially  white,  with  pumice-stone  from  the  old  volcano. 
But  it  was  a satisfaction  to  have  established  this  fact,  and 
the  beauty  of  its  flower-covered  slopes  and  of  the  meadows 
at  its  base,  and  the  solitude  of  the  wonderful  lake  at  its 
summit,  were  ample  compensation  for  our  disappointment 
in  its  height. 

Three  days  later  we  were  back  at  the  place  where  we 
had  left  our  mules,  and  we  ravenously  devoured  some 
eggs  which  we  managed  to  secure  there.  It  is  said  to  be 
good  to  rise  from  a meal  with  an  appetite.  In  those  days 
we  always  rose  from  our  meals  with  magnificent  appetites. 
It  was  the  greatest  relief,  however,  not  to  have  to  carry  a 
load  any  longer,  and,  happiness  being  merely  a relative 


OUK  PARTY  IN  MANCHURIA  To  face  page  i6 


f _ " ■ i;  / 


KIRIN 


17 


1886] 

quality,  we  felt  thoroughly  happy  on  the  following  day  as 
we  trudged  along  beside  the  mules,  with  no  weight  on 
our  backs  to  crush  the  heart  out  of  us. 

Our  intention  now  was  to  descend  the  Sungari  to  Kirin, 
one  of  the  principal  towns  of  Manchuria,  and  situated 
about  three  hundred  miles  from  the  source  of  the  river, 
near  where  it  enters  the  more  open  part  of  the  country. 
We  had  still  many  days  of  weary  plodding  through  the 
forest,  climbing  ridge  after  ridge,  crossing  and  recrossing 
tributary  streams,  one  of  which  we  had  to  ford  twenty-four 
times  in  the  course  of  a single  march,  and  everywhere 
waist-deep.  But  at  length,  and  very  suddenly,  we  found 
ourselves  clear  of  the  forest,  and  in  a populous  district  of 
extraordinary  fertility.  The  soil — all  reclaimed  from  the 
forest — was  almost  black,  and,  judging  from  the  crops, 
must  have  been  wonderfully  rich.  The  houses  were  all 
new,  large,  and  well  built,  and  provisions  could  be 
obtained  in  plenty.  After  rough  travelling  in  uninhabited 
parts,  one  really  appreciates  being  amongst  men  again 
and  seeing  active  life  all  round  ; and  here,  as  before,  we 
were  impressed  by  the  vigour  and  prosperity  of  these 
Chinese  colonists  breaking  through  the  forest.  In  Asia 
one  sees  plenty  of  the  old  age-worn  life,  but  on  that  conti- 
nent it  is  only  in  very  few  places  that  one  can  see  the  fresh 
young  life  of  a colony  pushing  vigorously  ahead. 

On  August  12  we  reached  Kirin,  and  the  first  round 
of  our  journey  was  completed.  Kirin  is  a large  town  of 
from  eighty  to  one  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  very 
picturesquely  situated  among  wooded  hills,  on  a bend  of 
the  Sungari ; here,  only  three  hundred  miles  from  its 
source,  a majestic  stream  a quarter  of  a mile  broad  and 
twenty  feet  deep.  But  it  rained  incessantly  while  we  were 
there,  and  the  filth  and  smells  of  the  place,  increased  in 
consequence  of  this,  prevented  us  from  enjoying,  as  we 
should  have  done,  all  its  natural  beauties.  Three  weeks 
we  remained  here,  paying  off  the  mule-men  who  had 
brought  our  baggage  from  Mukden,  and  arranging  for 
carts  to  continue  our  journey  round  Manchuria.  The 
chief  attraction  we  found  in  the  place  was  an  arsenal 


c 


i8 


THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 


recently  set  up  here  entirely  by  Chinamen,  and  managed 
by  them  alone,  without  any  European  guidance  or  super- 
vision whatever.  Here  we  found  magazine  rifles,  Gatling 
guns,  and  field-guns  being  turned  out  in  a very  creditable 
fashion.  We  called  on  the  manager,  who  himself  con- 
ducted us  round  the  workshops.  It  was  he  who  had 
started  the  place,  and  we  were  fairly  astonished  to  find 
such  a really  creditable  establishment  in  the  heart  of 
Manchuria,  many  hundreds  of  miles  from  the  coast,  and 
in  a country  where  there  were  neither  railways  nor  water- 
ways, nor  even  good  roads  for  the  carriage  of  the  heavy 
and  delicate  machinery.  Mr.  Sung,  the  manager,  had 
something  more  than  mere  imitative  genius  ; he  had  also 
some  notion  of  invention  and  adapting.  Having  brought 
up  an  initial  plant  of  machinery,  he  had  with  that  made 
more ; and  he  had  himself  invented  a magazine  rifle. 
Coal  he  obtained  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  a certain 
amount  of  iron  too,  but  most  of  the  latter  had  to  be  im- 
ported. He  was  very  civil  to  us,  and  invited  us  to  dinner, 
where  we  met  some  other  officials  of  the  place. 

Chinese  dinners  are  of  the  most  elaborate  description, 
and  this  one  was  no  exception.  Course  after  course  was 
served  up,  till  we  must  have  had  between  thirty  and  forty 
of  them,  including  such  delicacies  as  sea-slugs,  sharks’ 
fins,  and  bird’s-nest  soup.  The  Chinese  are  remarkably 
good  cooks,  and,  though  the  dishes  are  often  served  in 
a way  which  is  not  very  palatable  to  Europeans,  there  is 
no  doubt  that  the  actual  cooking  is  excellent.  There  were, 
for  instance,  little  suet  dumplings,  so  beautifully  cooked 
and  so  light  that  they  almost  melted  in  the  mouth  like 
jelly.  Some  of  the  dishes  of  vegetables  were  also  extremely 
good,  and  I especially  recall  a plate  of  stewed  young 
celery.  He  may  differ  from  us  as  to  the  means  of  doing 
it,  but  it  is  evident  that  the  Celestial  has  a very  good  idea 
of  the  way  to  look  after  the  inner  man.  I cannot  say, 
however,  that  I can  bestow  much  praise  on  his  liquor 
department.  Warmed  spirit  distilled  from  rice  is  not 
good,  and  taken  as  incessantly  as  a Chinese  expects  you 
to  take  it,  and  as  most  Chinamen  do  take  it,  it  is  apt  to 


i886]  CHINESE  GENTLEMEN  19 

make  you  decidedly  heavy,  if  not  more,  and  sick  as  well. 
But  the  point  in  which  the  Chinese  most  excel  in  these 
social  gatherings  is  in  their  duties  as  hosts.  They  are 
perfect  hosts,  full  of  attention  to  their  guests,  of  cheery 
bonhomie^  and  of  conversation.  There  is  elaborate  polite- 
ness, and  a good  deal  of  etiquette  is  observed,  but  no 
stiffness  is  apparent ; everyone  is  cheery,  and  everyone 
talks  incessantly.  It  was  a revelation,  indeed,  to  us  to 
find  what  good  fellows  these  Chinamen  could  be  amongst 
themselves.  Seeing  only  the  lower  classes,  the  mule-men, 
the  loafers  of  the  streets,  and  the  frequenters  of  the  inns, 
one  is  apt  to  form  a very  unfavourable  impression  of  the 
Chinese,  and  to  regard  them  as  a rude,  coarse,  and  un- 
mannerly race,  who  hate  strangers,  and  take  little  trouble 
to  disguise  their  feelings.  But  when  one  can  see  the 
Chinese  gentlemen  at  home,  one  modifies  this  impression 
very  considerably  ; and  personally,  from  this  and  other 
occasions  on  which  I afterwards  had  opportunities  of 
meeting  Chinese  gentlemen,  I saw  much  to  admire  and 
even  to  like  in  them.  I liked  their  never-failing  politeness 
to  one  another,  which  seemed  to  me  too  incessant  and 
sustained  to  be  mere  veneer,  and  to  indicate  a real  feeling 
of  regard  for  one  another.  Chinamen  have  little  regard 
for  strangers,  but  I think  they  have  for  one  another. 
Then,  again,  their  cheeriness  amongst  themselves  is  a 
trait  which  one  likes.  The  general  impression  among 
Europeans  is  that  Chinamen  are  cold,  hard  creatures  who 
have  not  a laugh  in  them.  As  a matter  of  fact,  they  have 
plenty  of  heartiness  and  joviality  when  they  care  to  indulge 
in  it.  I should  say,  too,  that  their  conversation  is  good  ; 
it  is  certainly  bright,  and  it  is  very  natural  and  well 
sustained.  Of  course,  in  conversation  with  Europeans 
they  do  not  excel ; they  are  lamentably  ignorant  of 
geography,  for  instance,  and  they  generally  annoy  the 
stranger  by  asking  if  his  country  is  tributary  to  China. 
But  in  the  conversation  carried  on  amongst  themselves 
there  seem  to  be  many  topics  quite  as  good  as  geography 
and  the  weather,  and  one  hears  long,  well-thought-out, 
and  well-expressed  arguments  on  philosophic  and  moral 


20  THE  EVER-WHITE  MOUNTAIN  [chap,  i 

subjects,  freely  interspersed  with  quotations  from  their 
classics.  A Chinaman  is  perhaps  rather  too  celestial, 
rather  too  much  up  in  the  clouds  and  above  ordinary 
mortals,  and  certainly  shows  too  little  interest  in  the 
common  everyday  affairs  of  this  world  ; but  he  is  an 
interesting  man  to  meet  at  home,  and,  mingled  with  the 
irritation  which  his  superciliousness  so  often  inspires,  I 
often  had  a feeling  of  real  regard  for  a man  who  can 
aspire  to  such  a lofty  standpoint  as  the  Chinaman  does, 
and  in  his  case  I felt  that  it  was  not  all  simple  self-conceit, 
for  he  had  in  him  the  pride  of  belonging  to  an  empire 
which  has  stood  intact  for  thousands  of  years,  and  which 
was  approaching  civilisation  when  we  ourselves  were 
steeped  in  barbarism. 


CHAPTER  II 


MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING 


“ Epirus’  bounds  recede,  and  mountains  fail ; 

Tired  of  up-gazing  still,  the  wearied  eye 
Reposes  gladly  on  as  smooth  a vale 
As  ever  Spring  yclad  in  grassy  dye  : 

Ev'n  on  a plain  no  humble  beauties  lie. 

Where  some  bold  river  breaks  the  long  expanse. 

And  woods  along  the  banks  are  waving  high. 

Whose  shadows  in  the  glassy  waters  dance. 

Or  with  the  moonbeam  sleep  in  midnight's  solemn  trance.” 


Byron. 


N September  3,  after  a three  weeks’  rest,  we  set 


out  once  more  on  our  travels,  heading  this  time 
towards  Tsi-tsi-har.  The  roads  were  to  be  comparatively 
level  and  good,  so  we  were  able  to  return  to  the  use  of 
carts,  and  travel  over  twenty-five  miles  or  so  daily.  But 
the  season  was  bad,  rain  had  been  falling  constantly, 
and  in  consequence  the  roads — of  course,  none  of  them 
metalled — were  simply  quagmires.  Even  just  outside 
Kirin  we  stuck  for  a couple  of  hours  in  a hopeless  mass 
of  mud,  and  delays  more  or  less  lengthy  were  constant. 
But  we  had  three  mules  to  each  cart,  and  when  one  was 
badly  stuck  we  harnessed  on  a team  from  another  to  help, 
and  in  this  way  managed  to  get  over  more  ground  each 
day  than  the  state  of  the  roads  would  have  led  one  to 
believe  possible.  At  about  twenty-four  miles  from  Kirin 
we  crossed  the  Sungari  by  a ferry,  and  kept  along  the 
right  bank  of  the  river.  The  hills  became  lower  and  lower 
and  the  valleys  wider  as  we  proceeded,  till  we  soon  found 
ourselves  in  open  undulating  country,  very  richly  culti- 
vated and  thickly  inhabited.  The  crops,  now  in  full  ear, 
were  extraordinarily  heavy ; the  millet  especially,  both 


21 


22  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

the  large  and  the  small,  being  unusually  heavy  in  the 
ear.  The  villages,  too,  were  all  of  a considerable  size 
and  numerous.  But  separate  farmhouses  or  small  hamlets 
were  seldom  seen — probably  on  account  of  the  brigand- 
age, which  was  very  rife  all  over  North  Manchuria.  We 
heard  frequent  tales  of  carts  being  attacked  on  the  road, 
and  of  villages  and  even  towns  being  pillaged.  We 
had,  however,  no  personal  experience  of  these  brigands, 
and  this  part  of  our  journey,  though  interesting  as  lying 
through  a populous  and  thriving  district,  was  lacking  in 
incident  and  excitement. 

Just  beyond  Petuna  we  again  struck  the  Sungari,  at 
the  point  where  the  Nonni  joins  it  from  the  north.  Here 
in  the  swamps  by  the  river  we  had  an  experience  of 
mosquitoes  which  quite  eclipsed  all  former  records. 
Thinking  the  marsh  looked  a likely  place  for  snipe,  we 
went  down  into  it.  We  heard  a suppressed  kind  of  roar, 
like  that  of  the  distant  sea,  and  we  thought  it  must  come 
from  the  river.  But  it  was  nothing  but  mosquitoes.  For 
a foot  or  two  above  the  marsh  they  were  in  myriads.  For 
a short  time  we  tried  snipe-shooting,  for  there  were  a 
number  of  snipe  about ; but  the  mosquitoes  bit  right 
through  our  breeches  and  gloves,  and  drove  us  so  mad 
we  had  to  leave  hurriedly. 

The  Sungari  was  here  spread  out  in  many  channels  to 
a width  of  some  ten  miles.  We  crossed  it  by  a ferry,  and 
on  the  opposite  side  we  soon  entered  the  open  rolling 
steppes  of  Mongolia.  The  cultivation  ceased,  and  with 
it  the  villages,  so  that  we  now  only  passed  an  occasional 
hut  inhabited  by  Mongols,  and  entered  on  a quite  new 
phase  of  our  journey.  Scarcely  a tree  was  to  be  seen, 
and  for  mile  after  mile  we  passed  over  i-olling  downs 
covered  with  rich  grass  and  exquisite  flowers.  In  the 
hollows  were  often  lakes  of  very  considerable  size,  some 
of  them  several  miles  in  length.  And  these  were  covered 
with  swarms  of  water-fowl — thousands  and  thousands  of 
duck  and  geese.  Indeed,  these  lakes  must  have  been  the 
breeding-ground  of  the  water-fowl,  which,  in  the  cold 
weather,  find  their  way  down  to  the  warmer  parts  of  the 


MILK  AND  CREAM 


23 


1886] 

continent.  Large  numbers  of  bustard,  too,  we  saw,  and 
many  herds  of  antelope. 

The  chief  attraction  for  us,  however,  at  this  period  of 
our  journey,  was  the  milk  and  cream  we  could  obtain. 
What  a treat  it  was,  after  nearly  four  months  without 
milk  or  any  of  its  products,  to  drink  some  of  the  rich 
delicious  stuff  which  these  Mongols  brought  us ! At 
one  time  in  the  forest,  when  I had  been  out  of  sorts,  I 
had  been  allowed  a glass  of  condensed  milk  from  our 
stores  as  a medical  comfort,  and  it  was  such  a luxury  to 
get  even  this,  that  I was  sorely  tempted  to  feign  sickness 
for  another  day  to  obtain  more.  But  here  was  the  pure 
article  in  any  quantity,  and  as  rich  and  thick  with  cream 
as  any  from  Devonshire.  These  Mongols  made,  too,  a 
sort  of  cream  cheese  which  was  most  delicious.  It  was 
a kind  of  solidified  Devonshire  cream,  which  they  made 
by  simmering  milk  for  about  twenty-four  hours,  and  then 
removing  the  cake  of  cream  formed  at  the  top,  drying  it, 
and  rolling  it  up  like  a pancake.  It  was  rather  less  thick 
than  a cream  cheese,  but  thicker  than  Devonshire  cream, 
and  it  tasted  exactly  like  the  latter.  The  advantage  of 
it  was  that  we  could  roll  it  up  in  a piece  of  paper,  and 
eat  it  in  alternate  bites  with  a piece  of  bread  on  the  line  of 
march.  And  plenty  of  it  we  did  eat  in  this  way. 

Of  the  Mongols  we  saw  very  little.  They  were  probably 
removed  from  the  main  line  of  traffic,  and  kept  well  clear 
of  it  and  of  the  shady  characters  who  might  frequent  it. 
We  only  came  across  two  of  the  felt  yurts  which  are  their 
characteristic  abodes,  and  those  Mongols  whom  we  did 
meet  lived  in  houses,  and  were  more  or  less  tamed  and 
settled. 

At  length,  on  September  20,  we  reached  Tsi-tsi-har,  a 
large  town  of  about  forty  or  fifty  thousand  inhabitants, 
and  the  seat  of  government  of  the  province  of  the  same 
name,  which  fills  up  the  whole  of  North  Manchuria.  But 
there  was  little  to  see  beyond  the  ordinary  shops,  the 
dirty  streets,  and  tumble-down  temples  of  every  Chinese 
town.  This  was  our  most  northern  point.  Winter  was 
approaching,  and  already  we  had  had  some  touches  of 


24  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

frost.  We  had  yet  much  ground  to  get  over,  and  so  we 
struck  off  back  again  towards  the  Sungari,  making  this 
time  for  Hulan.  We  passed  over  some  more  of  the 
Mongol  steppes,  and  now,  as  the  rainy  season  had  ended 
and  the  roads  were  dry,  we  could  take  our  carts  along  at 
a trot,  and  would  often  cover  over  thirty  miles  in  the  day. 
The  country  was  rolling  prairie  as  before,  and  covered 
with  rich  grassj  on  which  we  often  saw  large  herds  of 
ponies  feeding — fine,  strong  little  ponies,  like  miniature 
cart-horses,  and  very  hardy. 

Suddenly  one  day  we  drove  right  into  cultivation.  We 
had  crossed  the  boundary-line  between  the  Mongol  and 
Chinese  territory.  It  is  a purely  artificial  line  laid  across 
the  downs,  but  up  to  that  line  the  Chinese  cultivate  the 
land  ; beyond  it  the  Mongols  hold  sway,  and  no  attempt 
at  reducing  the  land  to  cultivation  is  made.  Consequently, 
the  boundary-line  between  Chinese  territory  proper  and 
that  which  the  Chinese  still  allow  to  the  Mongols  is 
formed  by  rows  of  millet  and  wheat. 

Hulan,  situated  at  about  two  hundred  miles  from  Tsi- 
tsi-har,  we  found  to  be  a new  and  thriving  town  only 
recently  built,  and  surrounded  with  a strong  masonry  wall. 
The  shops  were  excellent,  and  there  was  a busy,  bustling 
air  about  the  whole  place.  This  town  had  in  the  previous 
year  been  attacked  by  a band  of  brigands,  who  had  sought 
out  the  principal  merchants,  levied  blackmail  from  them, 
and  then  decamped.  It  was  here,  too,  that  a French  mis- 
sionary, Pere  Conraux,  had  been  most  cruelly  tortured 
and  almost  killed  in  the  year  previous  to  our  visit. 

From  this  point  we  turned  northward  again  to  visit 
another  new  town  named  Pei-lin-tzu,  where  we  had  heard 
a Roman  Catholic  mission  was  established.  We  were 
unfortunate,  however,  in  finding  that  M.  Card,  the  priest 
in  charge,  was  not  at  home.  So  we  turned  southward 
again  to  Pa-yen-su-su,  another  mission  station,  where  we 
found  both  its  own  director  and  M.  Card  from  Pei-lin-tzu. 
It  was  indeed  a pleasure  to  see  these  men,  and  to  have 
that  warm,  heartfelt  greeting  which  one  European  will 
give  to  another,  of  whatever  nationality,  in  the  most 


SOME  NOBLE  MISSIONARIES 


25 


1886] 

distant  corners  of  the  world.  Except  the  French  consul 
who  had  been  sent  to  inquire  into  the  outrage  on  Pere 
Conraux  in  the  previous  year,  no  European  had  ever 
before  visited  these  distant  mission  stations,  and  we,  on 
our  part,  had  not  met  a European  for  several  months  now, 
so  the  delight  of  this  meeting  may  be  well  imagined.  But, 
apart  from  that,  we  were  very  deeply  impressed  by  the 
men  tjiemselves.  Few  men,  indeed,  have  ever  made  a 
deeper  impression  on  me  than  did  these  simple  mission- 
aries. They  were  standing,  transparent  types  of  all  that 
is  best  in  man.  There  was  around  them  an  atmosphere  of 
pure  genuine  goodness  which  made  itself  felt  at  once. 
We  recognised  immediately  that  we  were  not  only  with 
good  men,  but  with  real  men.  What  they  possessed  was 
no  weak  sentimentality  or  flashy  enthusiasm,  but  solid 
human  worth.  Far  away  from  their  friends,  from  all 
civilisation,  they  live  and  work  and  die  ; they  have  died, 
two  out  of  the  three  we  met  in  those  parts,  since  we  left. 
When  they  leave  France,  they  leave  it  for  good  ; they 
have  no  hope  of  return  ; they  go  out  for  their  whole  lives. 
They  may  not  make  many  converts,  but  they  do  good. 
No  man,  Chinaman  or  European,  who  came  in  contact  for 
five  minutes  with  M.  Raguit,  M.  Card,  or  M.  Riffard, 
whom  we  afterwards  met,  could  help  feeling  the  better  for 
it.  Their  strong  yet  gentle  and  simple  natures,  developed 
by  the  hardships  of  their  surroundings  and  the  loftiness  of 
their  ideals,  and  untainted  by  the  contact  with  worldly 
praise  and  glamour,  impressed  itself  on  us  at  once,  and, 
as  we  saw  evidenced  in  the  people  around,  had  affected 
the  Chinese  likewise. 

“ Great  deeds  cannot  die  ; 

They,  with  the  sun  and  moon,  renew  their  light 

For  ever,  blessing  those  that  look  on  them.” 

Others  may  bring  discredit  on  the  missionary  cause,  and 
produce  the  feeling  of  hostility  to  it  which  undoubtedly 
exists,  but  these  are  the  men  who  are  a true  light  in  the 
world,  and  who  will  spread  abroad  the  essence  of  Chris- 
tianity— the  doing  of  good  to  others. 

This  remote  mission  station — established  here  where  no 


26  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

other  Europeans  had  penetrated — was  a source  of  the 
greatest  interest  to  us,  and  fulfilled  our  highest  ideal  of 
such  a station.  There  was  here  no  elaborate  costly  house, 
no  air  of  luxury,  such  as  may  be  seen  in  many  missionary 
establishments  elsewhere,  but  everything  was  of  the  most 
rigorous  simplicity.  There  was  merely  a plain  little 
house,  almost  bare  inside,  and  with  stiff,  simple  furniture. 
Under  such  hard  conditions,  with  such  plain  surround- 
ings, and  shut  off  for  ever  from  intercourse  with  the 
civilised  world,  it  might  be  supposed  that  these  mission- 
aries would  be  dull,  stern,  perhaps  morbid  men.  But 
they  were  precisely  the  contrary.  They  had  a fund  of 
simple  joviality,  and  were  hearty  and  full  of  spirits.  They 
spoke  now  and  then  with  a sigh  of  “ la  belle  France,”  but 
they  were  evidently  thoroughly  happy  in  their  lives,  and 
devoted  to  their  work. 

From  these  simple  hospitable  mission  stations  we  made 
our  way  to  Sansing.  Every  day  now  it  was  becoming 
colder,  and  at  one  place  we  were  delayed  for  a day  by  a 
heavy  snowstorm.  We  had  to  hurry  along,  for  the  mis- 
sionaries had  assured  us  that  in  winter  the  thermometer 
fell  to  over  40°  below  zero  Fahrenheit,  and  had  showed  us 
a thermometer  which  they  had  used,  on  which  they  had 
seen  the  mercury  fall  to  -47°  Centigrade.  The  country 
we  passed  through  was  now  hilly,  and  covered  with  copses 
of  wood — oak  and  birch.  Nothing  could  have  been  more 
like  an  English  country  scene,  and  on  the  edges  of 
these  copses  we  regularly  found  some  excellent  pheasant- 
shooting. All  day  long,  too,  flock  after  flock  of  geese  flew 
by  us  overhead,  making  towards  the  south.  Usually 
these  were  a long  way  out  of  shot,  but  on  a windy  day 
they  would  often  be  forced  down  so  as  just  to  top  the  hills, 
and  then  from  the  summit  we  would  get  a shot  at  them  as 
they  flew  over. 

We  once  more  crossed  the  Sungari,  and  on  October  13 
reached  Sansing,  an  older  town  than  those  we  had  re- 
cently passed  through,  and  with  much  less  life  and  bustle 
about  it.  Very  good  furs,  however,  were  to  be  obtained 
here,  and,  as  hard  winter  might  be  on  us  any  day  now. 


SANSING 


27 


1886] 

we  fitted  ourselves  out  with  long  loose  sheepskin  coats, 
reaching  well  down  to  the  ankles.  Sansing  is  the  furthest 
inhabited  place  of  any  importance  in  the  direction  of  the 
Amur.  The  Sungari  is  here  quite  navigable  for  boats  of 
considerable  size,  and  consequently  the  Chinese  had 
erected  near  by  some  fortifications  of  considerable  strength. 
We  rode  out  to  see  them,  and  I was  astonished  to  find  a 
fort  constructed  of  earthwork,  and  planned  on  the  most 
approved  European  lines,  and  armed  with  Krupp  guns  of 
six  or  seven  tons’  weight.  We  walked  straight  into  the 
fort,  looked  all  round  it,  found  a Chinese  soldier  walking 
inoffensively  about,  and  asked  him  to  unlock  the  doors 
of  the  magazine,  which  he  proceeded  to  do  ; and  then, 
having  finished  our  inspection  of  the  fort,  we  were  going 
quietly  away,  when  the  colonel  of  the  regiment  stationed  in 
it  sent  out  and  begged  us  to  come  in  to  tea.  He  was  most 
kind  and  hospitable,  but  in  the  middle  of  the  tea  came  a 
messenger  who  had  ridden  in  hot  haste  from  Sansing,  with 
an  order  from  the  general  there  to  say  that  we  were  on 
no  account  to  be  allowed  inside  the  fort.  This  was  most 
embarrassing.  And,  having  seen  all  that  was  to  be  seen, 
we  assured  our  host,  with  every  mark  of  sincerity,  that, 
these  being  the  orders  of  the  general,  nothing  should 
detain  us  for  a single  moment,  and  that  we  would  leave 
the  fort  instantly.  The  hospitable  old  colonel,  however, 
insisted  upon  our  finishing  our  tea,  and  I hope  he  never 
got  into  trouble  owing  to  the  slackness  of  discipline  of  his 
men  in  letting  us  into  the  fort. 

This  fort  would  absolutely  bar  the  passage  of  the  Sun- 
gari if  the  guns  could  be  trusted,  for  they  were  of  far 
larger  calibre  than  any  which  would  be  likely  to  be 
brought  against  them  ; and  I marvelled  at  the  persever- 
ance and  energy  which  the  Chinese  must  have  shown  in 
bringing  them  up  here,  for  they  had  had  to  be  transported 
some  hundreds  of  miles  by  land,  and  over  hilly  country. 
Field-guns  and  even  siege  battery  guns  might  have  been 
transported  fairly  easily;  but  it  must  have  been  a very  heavy 
task  indeed  to  carry  these  huge  pieces  of  ordnance,  six  or 
seven  tons  in  weight,  right  across  Manchuria.  But  with 


28  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

the  Chinese  there  is  always  a doubt  as  to  whether  their 
guns  will  go  off  at  the  critical  time,  for  they  are  so  utterly 
careless  with  them  and  with  the  delicate  machinery  con- 
nected with  them,  and  allow  it  all  to  go  to  rust  and  ruin 
with  such  perfect  disregard  for  consequences,  that  one  can 
never  be  sure  that  at  the  hour  of  need  the  guns  which 
they  must  have  brought  up  with  so  great  an  amount  of 
labour  will  not  fail  them  entirely. 

After  a couple  of  days’  rest  at  Sansing,  we  turned 
southward  and  ascended  the  Hurka  river  to  Ninguta. 
The  road  was  execrable.  We  still  had  our  carts,  and  how 
we,  or  rather  the  drivers,  managed  to  get  them  along  a 
road  really  fit  only  for  pack-animals  was  a marvel.  There 
was  a constant  series  of  ascents  and  descents  of  spurs 
running  down  to  the  river.  These  were  nearly  always 
steep,  and  the  road  narrow  and  rocky.  More  than  once 
our  carts  fell  down  the  side,  and  on  one  occasion  a cart 
and  its  team  turned  two  complete  somersaults  as  it  rolled 
down  the  hillside.  And  yet,  when  we  had  unpacked  it 
and  hauled  it  up  on  to  the  road  again,  we  found  no  serious 
damage  done  to  either  it  or  the  mules.  The  top  covering 
of  the  cart  was  rather  knocked  about,  but  the  main  part 
of  it  was  still  sound ; and  the  mules  merely  shook 
themselves  and  then  stared  stonily  ahead,  as  if  it  were  all 
in  the  day’s  work  and  not  to  be  wondered  at.  Both 
Chinese  carts  and  Chinese  mules  are  astonishing  pro- 
ducts. The  carts  are  beautifully  built,  and  made  strong 
without  being  too  heavy  ; and  the  mules  are  as  hard  as 
can  be,  and  as  a rule  really  very  docile.  A Chinese 
carter  seldom  drives  them  by  the  reins,  but  guides  them 
entirely  by  voice  and  cracks  of  the  whip.  In  this  way 
they  struggle  along  till  the  cart  bumps  up  against  some 
very  big  rock,  and  then  they  roll,  cart  and  all,  down  the 
hillside,  or  until  they  run  into  a mass  of  bog  and  quag- 
mire, when  an  additional  team  is  harnessed  on  from  the 
cart  behind.  Even  in  this  latter  case  the  fate  of  these 
mules  is  not  always  a happy  one  ; and  on  one  occasion 
when,  after  struggling  vainly  with  a single  team  to  pull 
a cart  through,  we  had  harnessed  on  another  team  and 


A LAND  OF  PLENTY 


29 


1886] 

then  set  to  work,  the  shaft  mule  managed  in  some  way  to 
get  clear  of  the  shafts,  and  got  under  the  wheels  of  the 
cart,  and  in  this  position  was  dragged  along  for  a hundred 
yards  or  so  before  the  other  mules  could  be  stopped.  We 
thought  he  must  be  dead — suffocated  with  mud  if  nothing 
else.  But  he  got  up,  shook  himself,  stared  stolidly  about 
with  an  aggrieved  expression,  as  if  it  were  really  rather 
harder  luck  than  usual,  and  then  allowed  himself  to  be 
put  in  the  shafts  again  and  go  on  with  the  rest  of  the 
day’s  work.  These  bogs  occurred  constantly  in  the  hol- 
lows between  the  spurs,  and  we  had  frequently  immense 
difficulty  in  getting  through  them.  Small  villages  were 
only  occasionally  met  with,  and  the  country  was  far  less 
well  populated  than  that  we  had  recently  come  through. 
The  hills  were  covered  with  woods  of  oak  and  birch,  and 
their  summits  with  pines.  Amongst  them,  it  was  said, 
there  were  gold-mines,  which,  however,  it  was  only  per- 
missible for  government  to  work,  as  the  Chinese  think 
that  indiscriminate  gold-mining  only  leads  to  fighting 
and  quarrelling  and  trouble,  and  the  emperor  therefore 
forbids  it  to  his  subjects  entirely.  We  crossed  numerous 
side  streams,  and  these,  as  well  as  the  Hurka  itself,  swarm 
with  fish,  mostly  salmon.  The  natives  form  dams  across 
the  side  streams,  and  catch  them  in  hundreds.  So  at  this 
time,  what  with  pheasants,  ducks,  geese,  and  salmon,  we 
were  living  very  comfortably,  and  making  up  for  our 
privations  in  the  forests  of  the  White  Mountain. 

As  we  neared  Ninguta  the  valley  opened  up  into  a wide 
plain,  which  was  well  cultivated  and  populated,  and  on 
October  26  we  reached  Ninguta,  a flourishing  place  of 
nearly  twenty  thousand  inhabitants.  Here  we  found  a 
telegraph  station  just  opened.  The  Chinese  attach  con- 
siderable importance  to  this  frontier,  touching  as  it  does 
on  Russian  territory,  and  the  construction  of  this  tele- 
graph line  was  one  of  the  signs  of  the  interest  they  took 
in  it.  The  line  was  well  and  stoutly  constructed  under 
the  supervision  of  a Danish  gentleman.  But  the  office 
was  manned  entirely  by  Chinese,  and  the  language  in  use 
was  English.  Every  clerk  spoke  English,  and  it  was  a 


30  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

pleasure  to  us  to  meet  any  one  who  spoke  our  native 
tongue. 

We  halted  here  a couple  of  days,  and  then  started  for 
Hunchun,  a garrison  post  of  some  importance,  situated 
on  the  extreme  frontier,  and  just  at  the  point  where 
Russian,  Chinese,  and  Corean  territory  meet.  Winter 
was  creeping  on  apace  now.  The  thermometer  on  the 
morning  we  left  Ninguta  was  at  ii°  Fahrenheit,  so  we 
had  to  push  on  hard  to  get  to  our  furthest  destination, 
which  we  hoped  might  be  on  the  sea,  at  the  Russian  port 
just  beyond  Hunchun,  and  then  back  to  our  original 
starting-point  at  Newchwang,  before  the  severest  part  of 
the  Manchurian  winter  overtook  us.  The  road  was 
terribly  bad,  again  crossing  over  ridges  fifteen  hundred 
to  two  thousand  feet  in  height,  passing  over  heavy  bogs 
and  morasses,  and  through  forests  of  pine,  birch,  and 
oak.  On  November  5 we  struck  the  Tumen  river,  which 
we  had  expected  to  find  a fine  stream,  like  the  Sungari 
near  Kirin  ; but  it  proved  to  be  only  about  a hundred 
yards  wide,  and  not  deep  enough  to  cover  the  rocks  and 
boulders,  which  showed  up  everywhere.  No  doubt  it  is 
fuller  in  the  summer,  but  it  can  at  no  season  be  navigable, 
as  it  was  at  one  time  supposed  to  be. 

Hunchun  we  found  to  be  simply  a garrison  town. 
There  were  here  about  three  thousand  troops,  and  the 
small  town  there  was  served  for  little  else  than  to  supply 
their  wants.  But  we  discovered  in  it  a number  of  Euro- 
pean articles  which  had  been  imported  from  the  Russian 
station  close  by.  Clocks,  sweets,  soap,  canned  fruits,  and 
many  other  luxuries  were  to  be  obtained  here,  and  at  a 
very  reasonable  price.  We  bought  a can  of  Singapore 
pineapples  for  a shilling. 

Hunchun  is  situated  in  a plain  at  the  foot  of  some  low 
hills,  and  round  it  in  the  direction  of  the  Russians — here 
only  ten  miles  distant — are  some  strong  forts  mounted 
with  heavy  Krupp  guns.  I was  sufficiently  astonished 
to  see  these  Krupp  guns  at  Sansing,  to  which  place  they 
could  have  been  brought  from  Kirin  by  water,  and  be- 
tween Kirin  and  the  coast  there  are  only  comparatively 


RECEIVED  BY  GENERAL  I 


31 


1886] 

low  hills ; but  how  the  Chinese  could  possibly  have 
managed  to  drag  these  enormous  guns  over  the  range 
upon  range  which  separate  Hunchun  from  Kirin,  and 
through  all  the  morasses  and  forests  we  had  seen  on  the 
way,  puzzled  me  much.  Mr.  James  found  that  they  had 
placed  the  guns  on  gigantic  sledges,  and  then  brought 
them  over  in  the  depth  of  winter,  when  the  ground  and 
bogs  and  everything  else  were  frozen  hard.  Yet  even 
then  they  must  have  had  extraordinary  difficulty,  for  in 
winter  in  these  parts  the  snowfall  is  very  heavy ; and 
these  guns  at  Hunchun  remain  a standing  evidence  of 
what  can  be  done  by  sheer  hard  labour,  without  the  aid 
of  modern  machinery  and  appliances.  I fear,  though, 
that  this  is  the  only  good  purpose  they  will  serve  ; for,  as 
I remarked  before,  the  Chinese  have  no  notion  of  looking 
after  these  delicate  pieces  of  mechanism  when  they  have 
got  them. 

At  Hunchun  was  stationed  the  lieutenant-general  in 
charge  of  the  frontier — a person  of  considerable  importance 
— and  on  the  day  after  arrival  we  proceeded  to  call  on  him. 
He  received  us  after  dark  at  his  official  residence  in  some 
state.  Every  official  residence  in  China  has  a number 
of  gateways,  more  or  fewer  of  which  are  opened  according 
to  the  rank  of  the  visitor.  In  our  case  every  gateway  was 
opened  ; the  courtyards  were  lined  with  soldiers,  and  the 
whole  place  was  lighted  up  with  Chinese  lanterns,  which, 
as  the  residence  was  newly  built,  and  large  and  spacious, 
made  the  scene  most  bright  and  picturesque.  General 
I (pronounced  Ee)  was  a dignified,  fine-looking  old  soldier, 
who  had  done  much  good  service  in  the  Taeping  rebellion. 
He  was  very  polite  and  courteous,  treated  us  to  some 
champagne,  and  talked  to  us  in  an  intelligent  and  inter- 
esting manner.  Nobody  can  be  ruder  than  a common 
Chinaman,  and  nobody  can  be  more  polite  and  refined 
than  a Chinese  gentleman  when  he  wishes. 

From  Hunchun  Mr.  James  had  written  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  Russian  post  across  the  frontier,  saying 
that  we  were  unprovided  with  passports  to  travel  in 
Russian  territory ; but  that,  if  he  would  give  us  permis- 


32  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

sion  to  do  so,  we  should  like  very  much  to  visit  Novo- 
kievsk.  We  then  started  off  towards  Russian  territory. 
At  about  ten  miles  from  Hunchun,  on  the  summit  of  a 
hill,  we  saw  a tall  sort  of  obelisk  with  an  inscription  on  it, 
which  we  found  to  be  the  boundary-pillar  set  up  only 
a few  months  before  by  the  Chinese  imperial  commissioner 
sent  in  conjunction  with  a Russian  commissioner  to  define 
the  frontier  in  this  direction.  Just  beyond  we  descried 
a couple  of  horsemen  trotting  towards  us,  and  as  they 
drew  near  we  saw  that  they  were  unmistakably  Cossacks. 
Neither  of  us  had  seen  a mounted  Cossack  before  ; but 
their  resemblance  to  all  the  pictures  one  sees  of  them 
in  illustrated  papers  and  books  was  evidence  enough  who 
they  were.  There  were  the  same  rough,  shaggy-looking 
grey  sheepskin  cap,  long  overcoats,  high  boots,  whip, 
and  rifle  slung  over  the  back,  that  we  knew  so  well  from 
pictures.  They  saluted,  and  gave  Mr.  James  a letter 
from  Colonel  Sokolowski,  who  commanded  the  Russian 
post.  The  colonel  said  he  would  be  most  happy  to  allow  us 
to  cross  the  frontier,  and  that  he  hoped  that  we  would  visit 
his  post  and  “accept  the  cordial  but  frugal  hospitality 
of  a Cossack.”  We  rode  on,  therefore,  and  at  about  three 
miles  from  the  frontier  came  across  the  Russian  station  of 
Swanka,  situated  among  some  low  rather  bare  hills. 
There  were  stationed  here  at  the  time  of  our  visit  about 
three  hundred  Cossacks.  Some  low  rough  barracks  had 
just  been  constructed  for  them,  and  small  cottages  for  the 
officers  were  dotted  about  all  round.  The  colonel’s  house 
was  larger  and  better  built,  but  all  of  them  were  of  the 
rough  simple  description  one  would  expect  to  find  at  a 
distant  frontier  outpost. 

Here  we  were  most  cordially  received  by  the  Russian 
colonel.  Russians  never  err  in  want  of  cordiality — to 
Englishmen  especially— and  in  this  remotest  part  of  Asia, 
thousands  of  miles  from  either  St.  Petersburg  or  London, 
we  met,  uninvited  guests  as  we  were,  with  real  warmth  of 
reception.  The  colonel’s  house  had  about  it  no  superfluity 
of  luxury.  It  had  glass  windows  and  a stove — which  are 
luxuries  the  Russian  would  not  have  met  with  if  he  had 


THE  COSSACK 


33 


1886] 

visited  my  own  headquarters  in  the  Chitral  frontier — but 
the  walls  and  the  floors  were  quite  bare,  and  the  furniture 
of  the  very  simplest.  There  was  only  one  room,  a part  of 
which  was  partitioned  off  into  a bedroom  and  dressing- 
room,  and  the  whole  place  was  crowded  up  with  military 
stores — for  a Russian  colonel  seems  to  be  his  own  quarter- 
master and  store-keeper — and  all  about  the  room  were 
piles  of  saddlery,  racks  of  arms,  and  heaps  of  miscel- 
laneous articles  of  Cossack  equipment. 

We  had  some  light  refreshment,  and  then  the  colonel 
took  us  round  to  see  the  barracks.  Here  the  Cossacks 
were  still  hard  at  work,  completing  the  building  before 
winter  set  in.  They  were  hard,  strong-looking  men,  fair 
in  complexion,  with  cheery  good-natured  faces  ; and  there 
was  about  them  a workmanlike  air,  which  gave  one  the 
idea  that  they  could  and  would  turn  their  hands  to  any- 
thing. An  English  soldier  is  perfectly  right  when  he  has 
shaken  down  on  active  service,  but  in  barracks  he  pro- 
duces the  impression  that  his  dress  is  his  main  interest  in 
life.  A Cossack,  on  the  other  hand,  wherever  one  meets 
him,  looks  as  if  he  were  ready  to  buckle  to  and  fight  there 
and  then  ; and  certainly  dress  or  appearance  is  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  he  would  trouble  his  head  about.  The 
barracks  they  had  just  constructed  were  rough  but  clean, 
and  about  as  good  as  those  of  our  native  troops  in  India. 
They  were  inferior  to  those  of  the  Chinese  troops  over  the 
way  at  Hunchun,  but  they  were  evidently  of  a temporary 
description.  The  rations  of  the  Cossacks  consisted  prin- 
cipally of  black  bread,  and  they  received  also  an  allowance 
of  soup-like  stew  or  stew-like  soup  ; but  the  whole  ration 
was  decidedly  inferior  to  what  the  British  soldier  gets. 
Their  pay  is  twenty  roubles  — about  fifty  shillings  — a 
month,  which  would  be  very  liberal  if  they  had  not  out  of 
it  to  pay  for  the  whole  of  their  equipment.  The  amount 
which  actually  reaches  their  pocket  is,  according  to  the 
colonel,  about  a halfpenny  a day  ! It  must  indeed  require 
conscription  to  induce  men  to  go  through  all  a Cossack 
does  for  this  ludicrous  remuneration. 

In  the  evening  the  colonel  had  a small  dinner-party, 


34  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

when  three  of  the  officers  of  the  post  and  a Chinaman,  who 
spoke  Russian,  and  acted  as  interpreter  between  the 
Russian  and  Chinese  officials,  came  in.  After  eating 
some  small  dishes,  such  as  sardines  and  salmon  chips,  at 
a side  table,  and  washing  them  down  with  a glass  or  two 
of  vodka,  which  the  colonel  informed  us  was  a quite 
necessary  proceeding,  to  clear  our  throats  for  the  dinner 
that  was  coming,  we  sat  down  to  the  main  business. 
First  of  all,  a great  soup-tureen  was  placed  on  the  table, 
filled  with  a good  substantial  soup.  “ No  ceremony, 
gentlemen  ; je  7nange  enormemejit,'"  said  the  colonel.  And 
he  proceeded  to  ladle  himself  out  a good  helping,  and 
everyone  round  the  table  then  did  the  same.  Each  of  us 
had  at  his  side  six  bottles  of  wine  and  beer,  and  these  we 
were  expected  to  attack  indiscriminately.  “You’re  drink- 
ing nothing,”  shouts  out  the  colonel,  as  he  stretches 
across  the  table  and  fills  your  glass  with  claret — a very 
excellent  sort  of  claret,  he  said,  they  got  from  the  Crimea. 
Before  that  was  finished,  another  officer  would  fill  your 
glass — the  same  glass  ! — with  sherry.  Then  the  colonel 
would  insist  upon  your  trying  the  beer.  Meanwhile  course 
after  course  of  the  most  substantial  dishes  was  being 
served  up.  Each  one  helped  himself  from  them,  but  in 
addition  one  or  other  of  the  officers  would  cut  off  a huge 
slice  and  put  it  down  in  one  of  our  plates.  The  hospitality 
was  genuine  and  most  hearty ; but  how  we  got  through 
that  evening  was  a marvel  to  us.  We  had  been  leading 
a hard,  healthy  life  lately,  so  had  good  appetites,  and 
were  able  to  keep  fairly  well  in  line  with  the  Russians 
in  the  eating  way.  But  the  drinking  was  terrible.  If  we 
had  been  allowed  to  keep  at  one  liquor  we  might  possibly 
have  survived  ; but  the  mixture  of  port  and  beer,  and 
sherry  and  claret,  and  Guinness’s  stout  and  vodka,  back- 
wards and  forwards,  first  one  and  then  the  other,  was 
fatal. 

In  the  middle  of  dinner  a jingling  of  bells  was  heard, 
and  up  drove  a tarantass.  The  door  opened,  and  in  came 
a young  Russian  officer.  He  had  arrived  with  his  wife. 
“Just  in  time  for  dinner,”  said  the  colonel.  “ Make  room 


RUSSIAN  HOSPITALITY 


35 


1886] 

over  there,  will  you  ? ” and  down  the  officer  sat,  while  his 
wife  went  to  her  house.  The  dinner  went  on  without  any 
break,  and  the  new  arrival  was  treated  as  if  he  had  been 
expected  for  dinner,  and  had  merely  come  in  a little  late. 
Yet  he  and  his  wife  were  new  to  the  post,  and  had  just 
travelled  for  three  weeks  through  Siberia,  across  those 
awful  roads  ! No  question  seemed  to  be  asked  of  the  lady 
whether  she  was  tired  or  not  after  her  journey,  and  it 
never  seemed  to  strike  anybody  that  she  possibly  could  be. 

Meanwhile  the  Chinaman  was  making  himself  thoroughly 
at  home.  There  is  seldom  any  need  to  tell  a Chinaman 
not  to  be  shy,  and  there  certainly  was  not  in  this  case. 
Before  dinner,  he  had  arrived  while  the  colonel  was  out, 
and  had  proceeded  without  any  compunction  into  the 
Russian’s  dressing-room,  and  made  every  use  of  his 
washing  and  dressing  things.  And  now  at  dinner  he 
was  equally  free  and  easy.  He  never  had  to  be  pressed 
to  take  some  more  to  eat,  or  to  fill  up  his  glass  ; and  he 
talked  away  incessantly  the  whole  of  dinner.  Nor  did  he 
think  it  necessary,  though  the  guest  of  the  Russians,  to 
refrain  from  telling  stories  very  detrimental  to  them.  He 
thought,  I suppose,  that  these  stories  would  please  us  ; 
but,  coming  from  such  a shifty  gentleman,  we  were  able 
to  put  them  at  their  real  value,  and  beg  him  not  to  trouble 
to  continue. 

Colonel  Sokolowski  had  served  in  the  Russo-Turkish 
War,  and  was  very  bitter  on  the  subject  of  it.  “Just 
look  at  all  we  went  through,”  he  said.  “All  the  thou- 
sands of  men  we  lost,  and  the  hardships  we  had  to 
undergo  ; and  what  was  the  result  of  it  all  ? What  good 
did  we  get  from  it?  Nothing  ; absolutely  nothing  ! ” He 
was  now  in  charge  of  this  portion  of  the  frontier,  and  had 
under  him,  I understood,  a regiment  of  cavalry,  a battery 
of  artillery,  and  a battalion  of  infantry.  He  was  obliged, 
also,  as  the  chief  of  a frontier,  to  speak  two  languages 
besides  his  own  (and,  as  being  especially  useful  on  the 
Chinese  frontier,  he  spoke  French  and  German).  Yet,  on 
comparing  notes,  we  found  that  I,  as  a subaltern  in  a 
British  cavalry  regiment  in  India,  was  drawing  more  pay 


36  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

than  he  was.  And  as  for  Mr.  James,  he  could  with  his 
pay  have  bought  up  a dozen — literally  a dozen — of  these 
frontier  commandants.  Where,  however,  the  Russian 
had  the  advantage  over  us  was  in  the  matter  of  climate. 
It  takes  a great  deal  of  money  indeed  to  make  up  for  the 
sickening  weariness  of  hot  weather  in  the  plains  of  India. 
All  these  Russian  officers  about  us  were  strong,  robust 
men,  bursting  with  health.  Between  them  and  a set  of 
Englishmen  in  the  plains  of  India  in  the  months  of  July 
and  August  there  was  a difference  which  is  but  poorly 
compensated  for  by  a few  additional  rupees. 

After  we  had  eaten  and  drunk  and  talked  for  some 
hours,  the  other  officers  went  off,  and  the  colonel  said  to 
us,  “I  don’t  know  quite  where  you  will  sleep.  There  is 
a sofa  for  one  of  you  ; the  other  two  had  better  sleep  on 
the  floor.”  This  we  proceeded  to  do,  and  so  passed  our 
first  night  in  Russian  territory.  The  colonel  had  spoken 
of  his  Cossack  hospitality  being  rough  but  cordial.  It 
was  both. 

On  the  following  day  we  started  off  for  the  larger  station 
of  Novo-kievsk,  fifteen  miles  distant,  and  situated  on  the 
coast.  On  the  way  we  met  the  commissaire,  or  chief  civil 
official.  He  spoke  English,  and  was  very  polite  to  us, 
and  volunteered  to  allow  us  to  go  to  Vladivostok — a trip 
which  we  should  very  much  like  to  have  made,  but  we 
could  not  spare  the  time  for  it.  The  fact  of  this  Russian 
official  being  so  civil  to  us,  though  we  had  no  passports, 
was  another  proof  of  the  friendly  disposition  of  the 
Russians  towards  us.  Novo-kievsk  was  a small  place 
with  a garrison  of  a battalion  of  infantry,  a battery  of 
artillery,  and  about  a hundred  mounted  Cossacks.  There 
were  very  few  buildings  besides  the  barracks.  The  road- 
ways were  unmetalled,  and  the  whole  place  had  a dreary, 
uncared-for  appearance.  We  could  discover  no  Russian 
hotel  or  inn  of  any  description,  and  had  to  put  up  at  a 
Chinese  inn.  There  were  two  Russian  and  four  Chinese 
shops.  The  latter  were  the  best,  and  were  about  equal  to 
a second-rate  Parsee  shop  in  an  Indian  cantonment.  The 
barracks  and  cottages  of  the  married  officers  and  men  were 


A SQUAD  OF  RECRUITS 


37 


1886] 

very  small,  and  whitewashed,  and  extremely  cold  and 
dreary  in  appearance.  The  whole  place,  barracks,  shops, 
church,  and  everything,  was  not  so  large,  and  certainly 
not  so  well  built,  as  the  barracks  of  my  regiment  in  India. 
The  absence  of  life,  too,  was  particularly  striking.  In  the 
afternoon,  at  any  rate,  we  expected  to  see  the  officers  and 
their  wives  coming  out  for  some  sort  of  amusement  and 
exercise.  But  nobody  appeared.  The  officers  seem  to 
spend  their  spare  time  in  smoking,  drinking,  and  playing 
cards : and  the  wives,  I conclude,  in  looking  on,  for  there 
did  not  appear  to  be  much  else  for  them  to  do. 

There  was  a hill  just  by  the  town,  and  of  course  we 
climbed  it.  We  afterwards  met  the  commissaire  again, 
and  he  told  us  that  he  had  often  heard  that  it  was  char- 
acteristic of  Englishmen  that  whenever  they  saw  a hill 
they  immediately  craved  to  go  up  it,  and  he  was  im- 
mensely tickled  at  hearing  we  actually  had  climbed  this 
hill.  He  said  he  had  scarcely  known  a single  Russian  in 
the  place  ascend  it ; but  here,  directly  an  Englishman 
arrives,  he  immediately  proceeds  to  do  so.  From  the  top 
we  obtained  a view  over  Possiet  Bay,  on  which  this  little 
station  of  Novo-kiesk  is  situated,  and  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  water,  about  two  miles  distant,  we  could  make  out 
the  small  settlement  of  Possiet,  consisting  of  thirty  or 
forty  houses. 

On  descending  the  hill,  we  found  a squad  of  recruits 
hard  at  work  drilling.  They  carried  a knapsack  and  the 
great-coat  in  a roll  round  it  and  over  the  body.  They 
were  being  taught  to  march  with  the  leg  kept  very  stiff 
and  straight,  and  a smart  little  adjutant  was  dancing  about 
up  and  down  the  line,  every  now  and  then  catching  some 
man,  who  was  out  of  step  or  dressing,  a tremendous 
punch  on  the  nose  ! The  men  were  small — I should  not 
say  they  averaged  more  than  five  feet  five  inches  or  five 
feet  six  inches — but  they  were  thick-set  and  robust-look- 
ing, and  as  hard  as  all  Cossacks  seem  to  be. 

We  were  close  here  to  the  Corean  frontier,  so  there 
were  numbers  of  Coreans  about.  Many  are  settled  in  this 
valley,  and  seem  to  flourish  and  to  be  looked  upon  with 


38  MANCHURIA  TO  PEKING  [chap,  ii 

favour  by  the  Russian  authorities.  They  always  appeared 
to  me  to  be  rather  a dull,  insipid  race,  but  they  are  said 
to  be  quiet  and  orderly,  and  as  the  Russians  want  popula- 
tion to  cultivate  and  improve  the  land,  so  much  of  which 
is  now  merely  run  to  waste,  they  are  welcomed  to  Russian 
territory  to  carry  out  the  work  which  the  Russians  them- 
selves seem  incapable  of.  Colonel  Sokolowski  told  us 
that  his  government  were  extremely  anxious  to  have  all 
this  Eastern  Siberia  colonised  by  Russians.  They  would, 
and  did,  give  every  encouragement  they  could  to  settlers  ; 
they  gave  them  free  farming  implements,  horses,  and 
cattle,  and  brought  them  out  from  Russia  free  of  expense  ; 
but  the  settlers  had  no  energy  or  vigour ; they  accepted 
all  that  was  given  them,  and  set  to  work  to  produce 
enough  to  live  on,  but  nothing  beyond.  “If  you  English,” 
said  the  colonel,  “had  had  this  country,  you  would  have 
made  a magnificent  place  of  it  by  now  ; but  our  Russians 
have  none  of  that  colonising  spirit  you  have,  and  the 
country  is  only  very  slowly  opened  up.”  Since  that  time, 
however,  the  Siberian  railway  has  been  taken  in  hand. 
The  Russians  are  waking  up  in  earnest,  and  a great 
future  ought  to  lie  before  these  magnificently  fertile  tracts 
of  Eastern  Siberia.  What  the  Chinese  colonists  have 
been  able  to  do  on  their  side  of  the  border  is  a type  of 
what  the  Russians  could  do  also.  And  with  a railway  to 
aid  in  its  development,  all  these  regions  about  the  Amur 
and  its  tributaries  ought  to  equal  the  most  thriving  parts 
of  Canada. 

We  only  stayed  one  day  in  Novo-kievsk,  and  then 
returned  to  our  friend  Colonel  Sokolowski’s  post,  dining 
with  him  there  again,  and  meeting  there  the  commissaire. 
The  talk  turned  on  the  subject  of  English  encroachments. 
These  two  Russian  officials  said  people  were  always  talk- 
ing of  English  designs  against  Russian  territory,  and 
it  was  curious  to  find  here  the  same  kind  of  alarmist 
rumours  and  suspicions  of  hyper-crafty  designs  and  deep- 
laid  schemes  of  aggression  that  we  are  so  accustomed  to 
in  India.  The  British  fleet  had  only  a few  weeks  before 
visited  Possiet  Bay,  and  immediately  all  the  cacklers  had 


ENGLAND  AND  RUSSIA 


39 


1886] 

set  to  work  to  find  a hidden  object  for  this.  The  English 
intended,  they  supposed,  to  bombard  Possiet  and  seize 
a port  here  in  Eastern  Siberia  as  they  had  just  done  at 
Port  Hamilton.  Fortunately  for  Mr.  James  and  myself, 
both  the  military  and  civil  officials  in  charge  of  this 
frontier  were  more  wide- minded,  even-tempered  men, 
and,  as  I have  shown,  treated  us  with  marked  civility 
and  without  any  sign  of  suspicion,  so  that  we  were 
enabled  to  carry  out  a most  interesting  little  visit. 


CHAPTER  III 


BACK  TO  PEKING 

WE  now  turned  our  faces  homewards.  We  had 
reached  the  limit  of  our  journey,  and  now  had 
to  hurry  back  to  the  coast  at  Newchwang.  Mr.  James 
went  by  a short  cut  to  Kirin,  while  Fulford  and  I,  with 
the  carts,  travelled  round  by  Ninguta  to  meet  a man 
whom  we  expected  with  letters.  On  November  ii  we 
left  Hunchun,  and  now  winter  had  regularly  set  in.  The 
thermometer  was  at  zero  or  a degree  or  two  above  or 
below  it,  and  snow  was  beginning  to  fall.  At  Ninguta 
we  found  the  river,  which  we  had  three  weeks  before 
crossed  in  a ferry,  and  which  was  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  yards  broad  and  with  a by  no  means  slow 
current,  now  frozen  over  so  completely  that  we  could 
run  our  heavily  laden  carts  over  on  the  ice.  Here  at 
Ninguta  we  met  our  man,  and  at  last  received  letters. 
We  had  not  received  a single  batch  since  we  had  started 
on  our  journey  six  months  before,  and,  after  all  the  hard- 
ships and  the  frequent  emiui  of  travel,  the  delight  of 
getting  in  touch  again  with  one’s  friends  and  inhaling  one 
soft  breath  of  air  from  our  native  land  was  intense  and 
almost  bewildering.  It  made  us  forget  all  the  hard  part 
we  had  gone  through  ; that  all  seemed  a dream  now,  and 
just  that  touch  from  outside  put  enough  new  energy  into 
us  to  have  started  us  contentedly  on  another  fresh  journey 
if  need  had  been. 

Fulford  and  I met  with  no  incident  on  our  road  to 
Kirin,  though  we  passed  the  body  of  a man  who  had 
on  the  previous  day  been  murdered  by  brigands ; and 
on  November  26  we  rejoined  Mr.  James  at  Kirin.  The 


40 


A CHRISTIAN  VILLAGE 


41 


1886] 

great  Sungari  was  now  frozen  over  hard.  The  ice  was 
more  than  a foot  thick  on  it,  and  we  were  able  to  trot 
our  carts  smoothly  across  a river  three  hundred  yards 
wide  and  twenty  feet  deep. 

From  Kirin  we  did  not  proceed  direct  to  the  coast,  as 
we  were  anxious  to  visit  the  headquarters  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  mission  in  North  Manchuria,  at  a village  named 
Hsiao  Pachia-tzu,  about  twenty  miles  from  Kuan-cheng- 
tzu.  On  approaching  this  place,  we  saw  from  far  away 
over  the  plain  the  tower  of  a church — a remarkable  in- 
novation in  a Manchurian  landscape.  On  our  arrival  we 
were  cordially  welcomed  by  the  two  priests — Pere  Litot 
and  Pere  Maviel — and  introduced  to  the  bishop,  a noble- 
looking, kindly  gentleman,  who  had  lived  for  over  thirty 
years  in  the  country,  and  has  since  died  there.  A notice- 
able feature  in  this  mission  was  that  the  whole  village  was 
Christian.  The  missionaries  had  begun  by  educating 
and  training  children  as  Christians.  These  had  grown 
into  men,  and  had  sent  their  children  in  their  turn,  and 
in  the  course  of  time  the  whole  village  had  become 
Christian.  We  attended  the  service  on  Sunday,  and 
were  very  much  struck  by  the  really  sincere  and  devout 
character  of  these  converts.  Brought  up  from  their  child- 
hood as  Christians,  and  under  the  kindly,  genial  influence 
of  the  good  priests,  the  people  of  this  little  village  seemed 
like  a different  race  from  the  cold,  hard  Chinamen  around 
them. 

We  could  only  stay  one  day,  and  the  next  we  pushed 
on  to  Mukden.  The  cold  was  now  becoming  intense. 
On  account  of  the  heavy  traffic  on  the  road,  we  had  to 
make  very  early  starts  in  the  morning  so  as  to  secure 
places  at  the  inns  in  the  evening.  We  rose  at  two  or 
three  every  morning,  had  a good  plate  of  porridge  and 
some  tea,  and  then  started  off.  For  the  first  hour  or  two 
it  would,  of  course,  be  dark.  Snow  covered  the  ground, 
and  the  thermometer  would  read  anything  from  zero  to 
14°  Fahrenheit  below  zero,  which  was  the  coldest  we 
registered.  But  though  it  was  so  cold,  I do  not  remember 
suffering  very  much  from  it.  The  air  was  generally  still. 


42  BACK  TO  PEKING  [chap,  hi 

and  we  had  the  advantage  of  starting  from  a warm  house 
with  something  warm  inside  us,  and  at  the  end  of  our 
day’s  march,  we  again  found  a good  warm  room  to  go  to. 
It  was  afterwards,  on  the  Pamirs  and  in  the  Himalayas, 
that  I really  felt  the  cold,  for  there,  instead  of  a warm 
room  to  start  from,  I only  had  a small  tent,  and  some- 
times no  tent  at  all,  nor  sufficient  firewood  for  a fire,  and 
the  high  altitudes,  by  causing  breathlessness  and  bring- 
ing on  weakness,  added  to  my  discomfort.  Here  in 
Manchuria,  unless  it  happened  to  be  windy — and  then, 
of  course,  it  was  really  trying — the  cold  affected  us  very 
little.  The  roads  were  frozen  hard  and  the  snow  on  them 
well  beaten  down  by  the  heavy  traffic,  and  we  trundled 
along  a good  thirty  miles  a day. 

The  traffic  in  this  winter  season  was  wonderful.  I 
counted  in  a single  day’s  march  over  eight  hundred  carts, 
all  heavily  laden  and  drawn  by  teams  of  at  least  two 
and  many  of  them  nine  animals,  ponies  or  mules.  A 
main  road  in  Manchuria  in  the  winter  is  a busy  scene, 
and  these  strings  of  carts  going  along  on  the  frosty 
morning,  with  the  jingling  bells  on  the  teams,  and  the 
drivers  shouting  at  their  animals,  were  signs  of  life  and 
animation  which  we  had  hardly  expected  to  see  after  our 
first  experience  of  the  heavy,  muddy  roads  in  the  summer. 
The  inns  were  numerous  and  crowded,  and  as  a string 
of  carts  passed  by  the  inn,  men  would  come  running  out, 
proclaiming  the  advantages  of  their  particular  hostelry, 
and  trying  to  persuade  the  carters  to  come  in.  Then, 
when  the  carts  stopped,  the  inn  men  would  bustle  about, 
fetching  grain  and  fodder  for  the  animals  and  food  for 
the  men,  and  there  was  as  much  bustle  and  activity  as 
in  a market  town  in  England.  I remarked,  too,  how  very 
well  the  carters  fed  their  animals.  These  Manchurian,  or 
rather  Mongolian,  ponies  and  mules  are  never  allowed 
any  blankets  or  clothing  of  any  description,  and  stand 
out  quite  bare  all  night  in  a cold  so  great  that  I have 
even  seen  the  hoar  frost  lying  thick  on  an  animal’s  back 
in  the  morning.  But  they  are  fed  enormously  while  they 
are  in  work.  They  are  given  in  the  day  as  much  as 


i886] 


FROZEN  MIST 


43 


sixteen  pounds  of  grain,  besides  bran  and  chopped  millet- 
stalks.  When  they  are  not  at  work  they  are  eating,  and 
the  eating  and  the  work  together  occupy  so  much  time 
that  I could  never  discover  when  they  slept.  The  pro- 
gramme for  these  animals  was  to  start  an  hour  or  two 
before  daybreak  in  the  morning.  At  midday,  or  some- 
what before,  they  would  halt,  and  the  instant  they  had 
stopped  they  would  be  put  to  a trough,  which  would  then 
be  piled  up  with  a feed  of  barley  or  millet  mixed  up  with 
bran  and  chopped  millet-stalks  or  straw.  This  and  water- 
ing would  occupy  them  the  greater  part  of  the  two  hours’ 
halt.  They  would  then  start  off  again  for  the  rest  of  the 
day’s  journey,  and  halt  for  the  night  at  dusk.  Immediately 
on  arrival  they  would  be  given  another  of  these  enormous 
feeds,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  night  a third.  Then  the 
next  morning  they  would  be  off  again  before  daylight. 
Grain,  of  course,  was  very  cheap  and  plentiful,  but  in  no 
other  part  of  Asia  have  I seen  animals  so  well  fed  as  in 
Manchuria,  and  the  result  was  that  their  owners  could 
get  the  fullest  amount  of  work  out  of  them,  so  that  two 
animals  would  draw  their  twelve  hundred  pounds  of  goods 
for  thirty  miles  a day  without  any  difficulty. 

The  country  we  passed  through  was  very  pretty  even  in 
winter,  and  must  have  been  really  beautiful  in  summer. 
It  was  undulating,  well  covered  with  trees,  and  intersected 
with  many  little  streams  and  rivers.  At  this  season  it 
was  all  under  snow,  but  we  saw  one  morning  one  of  the 
most  perfectly  lovely  sights  I have  ever  seen.  I have 
never  seen  a similar  sight,  either  before  or  since.  It 
was  a frozen  mist.  As  the  sun  rose  we  found  the  whole 
air  glittering  with  brilliant  particles  sparkling  in  the  rays 
of  the  sun — and  the  mist  had  encrusted  everything,  all  the 
trunks  of  the  trees  and  all  the  delicate  tracery  of  their 
outlines,  with  a coating  like  hoar  frost.  The  earth,  the 
trees,  and  everything  in  the  scene  was  glistening  white, 
and  the  whole  air  was  sparkling  in  the  sunlight.  It 
lasted  but  a short  time,  for  as  the  sun  rose  the  mist 
melted  away,  but  while  it  could  be  seen  we  seemed  to  be 
in  a very  fairyland. 


44 


BACK  TO  PEKING 


[chap,  hi 

We  passed  through  many  villages  and  thriving  little 
towns,  and  at  length,  after  covering  the  last  ninety  miles 
in  two  days,  we  arrived  at  Mukden,  and  found  ourselves 
among  our  own  countrymen  again.  We  drove  up  to  the 
Scottish  mission  established  here,  the  members  of  which 
had  been  particularly  kind  to  us  on  our  previous  visit  to 
Mukden,  and  had  pressed  us  to  stay  with  them  on  our 
return.  Messrs.  Ross  and  Webster  and  Dr.  Christie 
came  running  out  of  the  house  as  they  saw  us  driving 
up  in  the  cart,  and  it  was  only  as  we  were  shown  into  a 
cosy  drawing-room,  where  the  ladies  were  having  tea, 
that  we  realised  how  rough  we  had  grown  on  the 
journey.  We  had  each  of  us  developed  a beard,  which, 
as  well  as  our  hair,  now,  in  the  light  of  civilisation, 
seemed  very  unkempt.  Our  faces  were  burning  red  from 
the  exposure,  and  our  clothes — especially  our  boots — were 
worn  out  and  torn  with  the  rough  wear  they  had  under- 
gone. We  had  had  many  trials  on  our  journey,  but  this 
facing  a ladies’  tea-party  in  a drawing-room  in  our  dis- 
reputable condition  was  the  hardest  of  them  all.  As  soon 
as,  by  the  light  of  comparison,  we  had  discovered  our 
unpresentable  state,  we  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  and 
do  the  best  we  could  for  ourselves.  Mr.  Webster  then 
produced  every  manner  of  luxury  for  us — clean  white 
shirts  and,  what  to  me  was  most  acceptable  of  all,  some 
socks.  For  some  time  past  my  own  had  been  worn  to 
shreds,  and  as  my  boots,  too,  as  well  as  a pair  which 
Mr.  James  had  very  kindly  given  me,  were  all  in  pieces, 
my  feet  had  been  sadly  galled  and  blistered. 

Then  we  made  our  way  back  to  the  drawing-room,  and 
as  the  novelty  of  a return  to  civilisation  wore  off,  we  felt 
more  and  more  the  genial  influences  around  us.  The 
Scottish  are  always  hospitable,  but  few  even  of  them 
could  have  exceeded  in  hospitality  these  missionaries  at 
Mukden.  Mrs.  Webster  was  incessantly  at  work  devising 
some  fresh  form  of  comfort  for  us — at  one  time  making  up  a 
cosy  room  for  each  of  us,  at  another  producing  every  kind 
of  clothing,  and  at  another  bringing  out  the  most  astonish- 
ing variety  of  Scottish  cakes  and  scones  and  muffins. 


THE  SCOTTISH  MISSION 


45 


1886] 

This  Scottish  mission  is  established  with  a special 
object,  and  on  lines  different  from  most  other  missions. 
The  object  is  to  try  to  get  at  the  Chinese  officials  and 
gentry ; to  preach  to  the  lower  classes  as  well,  but  to 
make  an  especial  attempt  to  get  in  touch  with  the  gentry 
and  upper  classes  of  society.  With  this  object,  highly 
trained  men  are  sent  out,  and  the  mission  is  established 
with  some  “style,”  though  I use  this  word  not  to  imply 
any  particularly  luxurious  surroundings,  but  rather  to 
impress  the  difference  from  the  extremely  simple  and 
plain  establishment  of  other  missions  which  I have  seen. 
It  is  recognised  that  Chinese  officials  are  reluctant  to  mix 
freely  with  men  who  live  in  very  humble  houses  and  dress 
indifferently,  and  it  is  thought  that  men  who  adopt  a 
higher  style  of  living  and  dress  will  have  more  chance  of 
meeting  with  these  sensitive  Chinamen.  It  is,  moreover, 
considered  by  the  heads  of  this  mission  that  men  will 
work  better  in  a distant  land  if  they  are  accompanied  by 
their  wives  to  cheer  and  encourage  them  and  help  on  the 
mission  work  by  teaching  children.  It  is  part,  too,  of  the 
general  line  of  action  that  at  each  mission  station  there 
should  also  be  a missionary  doctor,  through  whom  first 
access  may  be  gained  to  men  who  might  otherwise  never 
be  approachable. 

This  class  of  mission  does  not  inspire  the  same  amount 
of  enthusiasm  as,  for  instance,  that  of  the  French  mis- 
sionaries we  had  met  in  Northern  Manchuria ; but  it 
may  be  quite  as  effective,  and  for  the  immediate  object, 
that  of  gaining  access  to  the  higher  classes,  it  is  probably 
much  better  suited.  The  medical  part  of  the  mission, 
especially,  is  eminently  practical,  and  likely  to  be  appreci- 
ated by  the  people.  As  we  ourselves  saw,  high  Chinese 
officials  did  make  use  of  the  services  of  Dr.  Christie,  and, 
though  it  cannot  be  expected  that,  because  a man  is  cured 
of  an  illness,  he  should  straightway  become  a Christian,  it 
is  evidently  an  advantage  to  both  the  Chinaman  and  the 
missionary  that  they  should  have  had  the  opportunity  of 
coming  in  contact  with  one  another.  Something  of  the 
strong  earnest  character  of  the  medical  missionary  must 


46 


BACK  TO  PEKING 


[chap.  Ill 

be  reflected  on  to  the  Chinaman,  and  the  missionary  on 
his  side  will  have  been  able  to  learn  something  of  the 
prejudices  and  difficulties  of  the  educated  classes  of  the 
Chinese.* 

We  could  only  spare  one  full  day’s  halt  at  Mukden,  and 
we  then  pushed  on  to  Newchwang,  where  we  arrived  on 
December  19,  just  seven  months  after  we  had  left  it. 
Here  Mr.  James  lodged  with  Mr.  Allen,  the  consul, 
while  I was  most  hospitably  entertained  by  Mr.  Edgar, 
the  commissioner  of  Chinese  customs.  It  is  a well- 
authenticated  and  pleasing  fact  that  wherever  you  meet 
Englishmen  on  the  borders  of  civilisation,  even  though 
you  may  be  utter  strangers  to  them,  you  will  be  treated 
as  if  you  were  their  most  intimate,  life-long  friend.  This 
happens  all  over  the  world,  and  it  is  an  unmistakable 
proof  that  the  true  feeling  of  men  towards  each  other  is 
one  of  good-will.  Men  are  at  heart  sociable  and  anxious 
to  know  each  other  and  attach  themselves  to  one  another, 
and  the  coldness  and  restraint  of  intercourse  in  civilised 
parts  is  merely  the  product  of  civilisation — an  outward 
veneer  only — covering  the  real  warmth  of  heart  which 
every  man  has,  and  which  immediately  becomes  apparent 
when  he  leaves  the  centres  of  civilisation. 

At  Newchwang  our  party  broke  up  ; Mr.  James  went 
off  to  Port  Arthur  and  thence  to  Japan,  while  Mr.  Ful- 
ford  and  I proceeded  to  Peking.  After  these  years  I feel 
strongly  how  much  I owe  to  Mr.  James.  It  was  through 
him  that  I had  thus  gained  my  first  experience  of  real 
travelling,  and,  though  I did  not  appreciate  it  at  the  time, 
afterwards,  when  I had  myself  to  head  an  expedition, 

I realised  what  sterling  qualities  of  steady,  dogged 
perseverance  he  must  have  possessed  to  lead  our  party 
successfully  through  the  forests  to  the  mysterious  Ever- 
White  Mountain.  I have  always  wondered  that  a man, 
who  had  held  high  offices  in  India  and  been  accustomed 
to  the  luxurious  style  of  camp  life  of  an  Indian  civil 
officer,  should  in  his  holiday-time  choose  to  rough  it  as 

* Remarkable  success  has  attended  the  work  of  the  Scottish  mission 
since  our  visit,  and  the  converts  now  number  many  thousands. 


MANCHURIA 


47 


1886] 

Mr.  James  did.  As  I used  to  see  him  marching  sturdily 
along  through  the  forest,  the  marshes,  and  especially 
when  he  had  to  carry  his  kit  on  his  back,  I used  to 
marvel.  To  a young  subaltern  the  thing  was  natural, 
but  when  a high  Indian  official  of  more  than  twenty 
years’  standing  did  it,  there  must  have  been  in  him  a 
wonderful  amount  of  “go  ” and  pluck,  and  this  Mr.  James 
undoubtedly  possessed. 

The  Manchurian  journey  was  completed,  but  some 
general  words  about  the  country  may  be  interesting. 
Those  who  wish  for  full  information  can  find  it  in  Mr. 
James’s  Long  White  Mountain.  In  the  first  place,  it  will 
have  been  gathered  from  the  narrative  that  the  country 
is  one  of  extraordinary  fertility.  Both  in  this  respect  and 
in  its  climate  it  seems  to  resemble  the  best  parts  of 
Canada.  It  is  mostly  land  formerly  covered  with  forest, 
and  consequently  the  soil  has  all  the  richness  which  the 
accumulation  of  decaying  vegetation  through  many  ages 
gives.  A very  large  proportion  of  the  country  is,  indeed, 
even  now  under  forest,  though  every  year  the  Chinese 
colonists  eat  further  into  it.  The  climate  is  severe  in 
winter.  At  Newchwang,  on  the  coast,  the  thermometer 
falls  to  10° or  12°  below  zero  Fahrenheit;  and  in  the  north, 
when  the  full  force  of  winds  which  sweep  across  two 
continents  is  felt,  the  thermometer,  according  to  the 
French  missionaries,  falls,  as  I have  already  mentioned, 
to  more  than  40°  below  zero  Fahrenheit.  The  summers 
are  warm,  but  not  hot,  the  maximum  temperature  being 
from  go°  to  95°  Fahrenheit.  The  springs  are  said  to  be 
very  beautiful,  and  the  autumns  are  crisp  and  bright. 
The  rainfall,  judging  from  our  experiences,  must  be  con- 
siderable, and  the  country  receives  the  full  benefit  in  that 
respect  of  its  proximity  to  the  ocean. 

Of  the  mineral  products  of  the  country  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  give  an  accurate  account,  but  we  met  with  a 
coal-mine,  an  iron-smelting  furnace,  and  a small  silver- 
mine  within  twenty  miles  of  each  other,  and  gold  is 
found  in  many  parts  of  the  country.  In  what  quantity 
these  minerals  are  obtainable  I am  unable  to  say.  The 


48 


BACK  TO  PEKING 


[chap.  III 


country  must  be  thoroughly  explored  by  some  competent 
mineralogist  before  even  an  approximate  estimate  can  be 
given. 

The  vegetable  production  includes,  besides  timber  (fir, 
oak,  elm,  and  walnut),  wheat,  beans,  hemp,  poppy, 
tobacco,  and  rice.  The  people  cultivate  the  land  with 
great  industry,  and,  assisted  by  nature,  extract  the  most 
plentiful  crops  from  it.  Large  quantities  of  beans  and 
bean  oil  are  brought  down  to  the  coast  for  exportation  to 
other  parts  of  China. 

Of  the  people  some  account  has  already  been  given. 
Mr.  Taylor  Meadows,  a former  consul  at  Newchwang, 
and  Mr.  James  calculate  the  population  at  from  twenty  to 
twenty-three  millions  ; but  of  these  not  one  million  are 
real  Manchus,  and  the  remainder  are  Chinese  immi- 
grants. Manchuria  is  therefore  populated  by  Chinamen, 
and  not  by  Manchus.  These  Chinese  colonists,  like 
Chinese  everywhere,  are  hard-working  and  industrious, 
and  the  country  flourishes  and  develops  in  spite  of  the 
bad  administration  and  of  the  brigandage  so  rife  in  all 
parts,  and  especially  in  the  north.  The  people  are  well 
housed,  well  fed,  and  well  clothed.  Food  is  plentiful  and 
cheap,  and  the  excellence  of  the  winter  roads  makes  it 
possible  to  import  goods  readily  from  the  coast.  The 
character  of  the  people  will  have  been  gathered  from  the 
previous  narrative.  They  are  certainly  not  attractive 
to  strangers,  and  at  the  end  of  a journey  one  leaves  them 
without  regret ; but  they  have  this  good  quality  of 
industry — they  are  persevering  in  their  efforts  at  colonisa- 
tion, and  thrifty  in  their  habits. 

Two  days  before  Christmas,  Fulford  and  I had  to  start 
for  Tientsin.  It  was  rather  a wrench  to  have  to  leave  our 
friends  just  before  Christmas  in  this  way,  but  I thought  it 
possible  that  we  might  just  reach  Tientsin  before  the  river 
was  closed,  and  so  be  able  to  get  away  down  the  coast  at 
once.  Christmas  Day  we  spent  in  a Chinese  inn.  We, 
of  course,  had  a plum-pudding,  which  had  been  pre- 
sented to  us  by  our  friends,  and  some  wine  in  which  to 
drink  the  health  of  those  at  home,  and  certainly  it  had 


i886] 


THE  GREAT  WALL  OF  CHINA 


49 


been  a great  satisfaction  to  me  to  have  been  able  to  tele- 
graph home  from  Newchwang  our  safe  return  from  our 
journey,  so  that  now  at  Christmas-time  they  might  feel 
no  uneasiness  on  my  account. 

We  passed  nothing  of  interest  till  we  reached  Shan- 
hai-kuan,  the  point  where  the  Great  Wall  of  China 
begins,  or  ends,  in  the  sea.  This  was  a sight  really 
worth  seeing.  A line  of  hills,  between  two  or  three  thou- 
sand feet  in  height,  stretched  from  inland  close  down  to 
the  seashore ; and  all  along  these  heights,  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  ran  this  wonderful  wall,  going  down  the 
side  of  one  hill,  up  the  next,  over  its  summit  and  down 
the  other  side  again,  and  then  at  the  end  coming  finally 
down  and  plunging  right  into  the  sea  till  the  waves 
washed  the  end  of  it.  It  was  no  trumpery  little  wall,  nor 
such  a wall,  for  instance,  as  one  sees  round  a modern 
prison,  but  a regular  castle  wall,  such  as  they  built  in  the 
Middle  Ages  round  their  strongest  castles,  thirty  or  forty 
feet  high,  of  solid  stone,  and  fifteen  feet  or  so  thick,  wide 
enough  for  two  carriages  to  drive  abreast  on  it,  with 
towers  every  few  hundred  yards.  This  was  the  Great 
Wall  of  China  at  its  commencement,  and  it  is,  I think, 
almost  more  wonderful  than  the  Pyramids.  I have  seen 
both.  Both  astounded  me  by  their  evidence  of  colossal 
industry  ; but  the  Great  Wall  of  China,  pushing  straight 
over  the  mountains,  regardless  of  height  and  distance, 
is,  perhaps,  the  more  impressive  of  the  two.  There  are 
points,  however,  in  which  the  Pyramids  excel  the  Great 
Wall.  The  Pyramids  are  perfect  throughout.  Not  a flaw 
can  be  found.  Each  huge  block  is  laid  with  absolute 
precision,  and  there  is  no  sign  inside  or  out  of  anything 
less  enduring  than  these  immense  blocks  of  stone  being 
employed.  The  Great  Wall,  on  the  other  hand,  though 
it  runs  for  hundreds  of  miles  in  the  magnificent  state 
I have  described,  dwindles  down  eventually  to  a mere 
mud  wall,  and,  moreover,  even  in  the  best  parts,  the 
inside  of  it  is  only  rubbish.  It  is  not  perfect  throughout 
its  entire  length,  nor  solid  right  through.  The  Pyramids 
will  remain  when  the  Great  Wall  has  run  to  ruin. 


50 


BACK  TO  PEKING 


[chap.  Ill 


At  Shan-hai-kuan  we  found  several  modern  forts  con- 
structed and  armed  with  Krupp  guns — a curious  contrast 
to  the  antiquated  wall  of  defence  by  which  they  lay.  An 
instructor  to  the  Chinese  in  the  use  of  these  guns,  a 
German  non-commissioned  officer,  was  stationed  here. 
He  spoke  very  disparagingly  about  the  interest  the 
Chinese  took  in  their  duties.  It  was  impossible,  he  said, 
to  get  them  to  look  after  their  guns  properly.  They 
could  not  be  made  to  see  the  necessity  of  it,  and  costly, 
highly  finished  guns  were  going  to  ruin  for  want  of 
proper  care.  This  defect  is  seen  everywhere  in  Chinese 
naval  and  military  officers. 

From  here  we  went  to  Kaiping.  On  the  way  we  passed 
cart  after  cart  laden  with  coffins,  and  with  a cock  in  a cage 
at  the  top  of  each.  A Chinaman  dislikes  being  buried 
outside  the  Great  Wall,  and  as  soon  as  his  relatives  can 
afford  it,  they  bring  him  home  inside  it  again.  These 
were  the  bodies  of  colonists  who  had  died  in  Manchuria, 
and  were  being  brought  back  to  their  homes  again.  The 
cock  was  intended,  by  his  crowing,  to  keep  the  spirit 
awake  while  passing  through  the  Great  Wall  ; otherwise, 
it  was  feared,  the  spirit  might  go  wandering  off  some- 
where and  forget  the  body,  and  the  body  might  be 
brought  in  and  the  spirit  left  behind. 

As  we  neared  Kaiping  we  were  surprised  to  see  two 
British  navvies  walking  along  the  road,  and  there  was  not 
the  slightest  mistake  who  they  were,  for  as  we  passed,  one 

said  to  the  other,  “ I wonder  who  the that  is. 

Bill  ?”  They  were  miners  employed  in  the  colliery  at  this 
place.  The  Kaiping  coal-mine  was  in  the  charge  of 
Mr.  Kinder,  who  very  kindly  gave  us  a room  for  the 
night,  and  the  next  day  showed  us  round  the  mine.  At 
the  time  of  our  visit  it  was  nine  hundred  feet  deep,  and 
could  turn  out  five  hundred  tons  of  coal  a day.  Now, 
however,  it  can  turn  out  its  thousand  or  one  thousand  five 
hundred  tons  without  difficulty.  Mr.  Kinder,  who  is  still 
in  charge,  is  a man  of  surprising  energy  and  enterprise. 
Employed  by  a Chinese  company,  over  whom,  however, 
I fancy,  he  has  a considerable  influence,  he  first  of  all  got 


RAILWAYS  IN  CHINA 


51 


1886] 

this  coal-mine  into  working  order.  Then  he  ran  a small 
tramway  down  the  coast,  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  the 
coals  to  a port.  The  waggons  on  this  were  at  first  drawn 
by  ponies,  but  after  a time  Mr.  Kinder  made  up  a little 
engine,  which  he  called  the  “ Rocket,”  to  do  the  work. 
This  engine  he  showed  us  with  great  pride.  It  was 
entirely  constructed  by  himself  on  the  spot,  and  the  only 
parts  which  had  been  imported  were  the  wheels,  which 
had  been  brought  from  Hong-kong — the  remnants  of  an 
old  tramway  service.  The  Chinese  had  been  afraid  of  a 
whole  engine  being  imported  by  a “foreign  devil,”  but  a 
machine  made  on  the  spot  aroused  no  fears.  In  the  course 
of  time  another  more  powerful  engine  was  made  and  the 
tramway  enlarged.  Then,  as  the  Chinese  grew  accus- 
tomed to  seeing  steam-engines,  Mr.  Kinder  was  able  to 
introduce  the  idea  of  having  engines  from  abroad  instead 
of  making  inferior  ones  on  the  spot.  The  ice  had  been 
broken.  The  first  prejudice  had  been  overcome,  and  rail- 
ways in  China  had  been  started.  Engines,  rolling-stock, 
and  rails  were  now  imported,  and  a railway  towards 
Tientsin  was  commenced.  This,  Mr.  Kinder,  with  only 
one  European  assistant  to  supervise  the  mine,  was  now 
constructing.  A year  or  two  afterwards  it  reached 
Tientsin,  and  has  now  been  extended  eastward  to  Shan- 
hai-kuan.  Its  extension  to  Manchuria  will  be  the  next 
move,  and  then  the  whole  of  that  magnificently  rich 
country  will  be  opened  up.  If  any  one  deserves  the 
credit  of  having  introduced  railways  into  China,  I think 
Mr.  Kinder  must  be  the  man. 

Mr.  Kinder  had  many  stories  of  his  intercourse  with 
Chinese  which  amused  us.  He  was  called  at  one  time 
before  some  very  high  Manchu  prince  who  had  never 
seen  a European.  The  prince  eyed  the  Englishman 
suspiciously  for  a time,  and  then  began  stroking  him 
down,  at  the  same  time  saying  that  the  gentleman  was 
quite  tame,  and  did  not  apparently  bite  nor  kick.  He  had 
been  made  to  believe  that  Europeans  really  were,  as  they 
are  always  called  by  the  Chinese,  devils,  and  he  had  ex- 
pected to  find  a sort  of  wild  animal  brought  before  him. 


52  BACK  TO  PEKING  [chap,  hi 

This  is  one  of  the  prejudices  a European,  dealing  with  the 
Chinese,  has  to  overcome. 

Another  sort  of  prejudice  which  often  stood  very  much 
in  Mr.  Kinder’s  way,  was  that  of  “ Feng-shui.”  This  is  a 
prejudice  connected  with  the  spirit  world.  The  living,  the 
Chinese  consider,  must  conform  to  certain  rules,  or  the 
evil  spirits  will  enter  the  house,  and  harm  will  come  to  all 
connected  with  it.  A stranger  in  China  is  surprised  to 
notice  a wall,  ten,  twenty,  or  fifty  yards  long,  according 
to  the  size  of  the  house,  placed  a few  yards  off  straight  in 
front  of  the  gateway.  This  wall  stands  out  by  itself,  and 
fulfils  no  apparent  object.  It  is  really  intended  to  prevent 
evil  spirits  entering  the  houses.  Evil  spirits,  according 
to  the  Chinese,  can  only  go  straight  ahead  ; they  cannot 
turn  a corner.  So  if  a wall  is  built  straight  in  front  of  the 
gateway,  the  spirits  run  up  against  that  and  are  unable  to 
enter  the  house.  This  is  only  one  instance  of  the  super- 
stition of  Feng-shui.  It  has  many  similar  prejudices  with 
which  the  construction  of  a railway  through  the  country 
was  likely  to  interfere.  For  instance,  it  was  objected  by 
the  Chinese,  that  if  the  railway  were  raised  the  spirits 
might  go  along  the  top  of  the  carriages  and  look  down 
into  their  houses.  “But  then,”  said  Mr.  Kinder,  “just 
look  at  the  embankment  and  think  how  many  devils  that 
will  keep  out,  running  for  miles  and  miles  as  it  does,  right 
in  front  of  your  doorways.”  Much  of  this  sort  of  diplo- 
macy was  needed  to  overcome  prejudice  after  prejudice, 
but  Mr.  Kinder  was  as  good  at  diplomacy  as  he  was  at 
engineering,  and  railways  in  China  are  now  an  ac- 
complished fact. 

From  Kaiping  we  proceeded  to  Tientsin,  passing  over 
a dead  level  plain,  and  reaching  that  place  on  New  Year  s 
Day,  1887.  The  Peiho  river  had  just  been  frozen  over, 
and  steamer  communication  with  the  south  was  blocked  till 
the  spring.  At  Tientsin  I was  very  hospitably  entertained 
by  the  consul,  Mr.  Byron  Brenan,  and  his  wife,  with 
whom  Mr.  James  and  I had  stopped  on  our  previous  visit. 
There  is  generally  plenty  going  on  in  the  little  foreign 
community  at  Tientsin,  and  besides  a mounted  paper- 


ICE-BOAT  SAILING 


53 


1887] 

chase,  organised  by  the  French,  we  had  ice-boat  sailing 
and  skating.  The  ice-boat  was  a great  attraction,  and 
with  full  sails  set  we  went  skimming  along  at  a good 
thirty  miles  an  hour  over  the  flooded  plains.  This  ice- 
boat was  built  upon  runners  like  magnified  skates,  it  had 
sails  like  a yacht,  and  of  course  a rudder.  The  pace  was 
tremendous,  for  there  is  little  friction  and  no  resistance 
such  as  a ship  has  to  encounter  at  sea.  For  the  same 
reason  it  could  be  turned  in  an  instant  in  any  direction, 
and  the  only  difficulty  was  to  keep  a firm  enough  hold  as 
the  boat  whisked  round.  On  one  occasion  a lady  did  not 
do  so,  and  was  sent  off  at  a tangent,  skimming  gracefully 
along  over  the  ice  in  one  direction,  while  the  boat  went 
off  at  thirty  miles  an  hour  in  another  ! Any  other  form  of 
yachting  is  tame  in  comparison  with  this  ice-boat  sailing, 
and  its  only  disadvantage  is  the  cold.  Flying  through 
the  air  with  the  thermometer  not  far  off  zero  is  very  cold 
work,  and  necessitates  good  heavy  furs. 

During  my  stay  in  Tientsin,  the  Russian  New  Year 
fell,  and  Mr.  Brenan  took  me  a round  of  visits  to  the 
Russian  consul  and  the  Russian  merchants  in  the  place. 
With  them  the  New  Year  is  observed  with  great  ceremony. 
At  each  house  we  found  substantial  refreshment  laid  out 
on  a side-table,  and  were  pressed  to  drink  good  luck  to 
the  coming  year  in  champagne.  The  Russians  in  Tientsin 
are  mostly  tea-merchants,  and  some  of  them  are  extremely 
rich,  and  live  in  very  luxuriously  furnished  houses.  They 
all  of  them  had  that  warm,  hearty,  cordial  manner  which 
is  the  characteristic  of  Russians. 

After  this  I went  on  to  Peking,  and  was  entertained  in 
the  British  Legation,  first  by  Mr.  Walter  Hillier,  then 
Chinese  Secretary,  now  Consul-General  in  Corea,  and 
afterwards  by  Sir  John  and  Lady  Walsham.  I trespassed 
far  too  long  on  their  hospitality,  but  they  were  so  kind  in 
their  reception  of  me,  and  it  was  such  a relief  to  be  settled 
in  comfortable  home-like  surroundings  after  the  rough  life 
I had  been  leading,  that  I was  unable  to  break  myself 
away  till  the  spring  had  come  on,  and  so  I was  with  them 
for  nearly  three  months.  And  here,  of  course,  I learnt  a 


54 


BACK  TO  PEKING 


[chap.  Ill 

great  deal  about  the  Chinese  which  I should  certainly 
never  have  been  able  to  learn  by  myself.  Mr.  Hillier  was 
known  to  be  a fine  Chinese  scholar,  and  to  have  a very 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  Chinese.  Conversations  with 
him  were  therefore  especially  interesting,  and  in  my  sub- 
sequent journeys  I was  able  to  profit  much  by  the  advice 
he  gave  me. 

Peking  has  been  described  so  often  that  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  do  so  once  more.  The  only  striking  things  about 
it  are  the  size  of  its  walls  and  its  gateways,  the  filth  of 
its  streets,  and  the  utter  disregard  for  decency  of  its  in- 
habitants. One  could  not  stir  outside  the  Legation  with- 
out going  through  the  most  disgusting  filth,  and  the 
practical  result  of  this  is,  that  the  members  of  the  foreign 
legations  go  out  as  little  as  possible.  They  entertain 
among  themselves,  though,  very  considerably,  and  during 
the  winter  there  was  a constant  succession  of  dinner- 
parties and  dances,  and  every  afternoon  we  used  to  meet 
at  the  skating-rink,  a covered-in  enclosure  with  natural 
ice,  flooded  over  and  frozen  fresh  every  day.  The  British 
Legation  entertainments  were  of  course  very  brilliant,  for 
the  house  is  an  old  palace  with  unusually  large,  fine, 
well-decorated  rooms,  and  these  Lady  Walsham  had  just 
had  newly  furnished  from  home.  At  an  entertainment 
there,  surrounded  with  the  most  beautiful  furniture,  and 
every  sort  of  modern  comfort,  and  with  people  of  every 
European  nationality  talking  around  one,  it  was  hard 
to  realise  that  this  was  all  in  the  very  capital  of  one  of  the 
most  exclusive  countries  in  the  world,  and  that  it  is  only 
in  the  last  thirty  of  the  three  thousand  years  during  which 
the  Chinese  Empire  has  existed  that  such  a thing  has 
been  possible. 


CHAPTER  IV 


PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG 


“And  o'er  him  many  changing'  scenes  must  roll, 

Ere  toil  his  thirst  for  travel  can  assuage.” — Byron. 


WHILE  I was  waiting  in  Peking,  news  arrived  that 
Colonel  M.  S.  Bell,  V.C.,  of  the  Royal  Engineers, 
was  to  come  there  and  travel  straight  through  to  India. 
I knew  Colonel  Bell,  having  served  under  him  in  the 
Intelligence  Department  in  India,  so  I immediately  decided 
upon  asking  him  to  allow  me  to  accompany  him.  Here 
was  the  opportunity  for  which  I had  longed.  Here  was  a 
chance  of  visiting  that  hazy  mysterious  land  beyond  the 
Himalayas,  and  of  actually  seeing  Kashgar  and  Yarkand, 
with  whose  names  I had  been  acquainted  since  I was 
a boy  through  letters  from  my  uncle,  Robert  Shaw.  A 
journey  overland  to  India  would  take  us  through  the 
entire  length  of  Chinese  Turkestan,  the  condition  of 
which  was  still  unknown  since  the  Chinese  had  re- 
conquered it  by  one  of  those  long-sustained  efforts  for 
which  they  are  so  remarkable.  We  should  be  able  to  see 
these  secluded  people  of  Central  Asia,  dim  figures  of 
whom  I had  pictured  in  my  mind  from  reading  the 
accounts  of  the  few  travellers  who  had  been  amongst 
them.  Then,  too,  there  was  the  fascination  of  seeing  the 
very  heart  of  the  Himalayas,  as  we  should  have  to  cross 
their  entire  breadth  on  the  way  to  India.  And  all  com- 
bined was  one  grand  project — this  idea  of  striking  boldly 
out  from  Peking  to  penetrate  to  India  — that  of  itself 
inspired  enthusiasm  and  roused  every  spark  of  exploring 
ardour  in  me.  No  excitement  I have  ever  experienced 
has  come  up  to  that  of  planning  out  a great  journey.  The 


55 


56  PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 

only  drawback  in  such  a life  is  the  subsequent  reaction 
when  all  is  over,  and  the  monotonous  round  of  ordinary 
existence  oppresses  one  by  its  torpidity  and  flatness  in 
comparison.  The  project  before  me  was  a journey  in 
length  nearly  as  great  as  one  across  Central  Africa  and 
back  again,  and,  to  me  at  least,  far  more  interesting  than 
any  African  travel — a journey  through  countries  varying 
from  the  level  wastes  of  the  Gobi  desert,  to  the  snow-clad 
masses  of  the  Himalayas ; passing,  moreover,  through 
the  entire  length  of  an  empire  with  a history  of  three 
thousand  years,  and  still  fresh  in  interest  to  the  present 
day.  And  with  the  chance  of  making  such  a journey, 
who  could  help  feeling  all  the  ardent  excitement  of  travel 
rising  in  him,  and  long  to  be  started  on  it? 

Colonel  Bell  arrived  in  Peking  towards  the  end  of 
March,  and  said  he  would  be  only  too  glad  to  allow  me  to 
accompany  him  ; but  he  thought  that  it  would  be  rather  a 
waste  of  energy  for  two  officers  to  travel  together,  so  we 
arranged  to  follow  different  routes. 

There  were,  of  course,  some  initial  difficulties  to  be 
overcome — the  chief  one  being  leave  of  absence  from  my 
regiment.  But  Sir  John  Walsham,  for  whose  kindness 
on  this  occasion  I could  never  feel  too  grateful,  overcame 
this  by  telegraphing  direct  to  Lord  Dufferin,  and  that 
difficulty — generally  the  greatest  which  military  explorers 
have  to  encounter — was  at  once  removed. 

The  telegram  having  been  despatched.  Colonel  Bell 
and  I spread  out  our  maps  and  discussed  operations.  He 
was  anxious  to  see  the  populous  parts  of  China,  so  decided 
upon  going  through  the  provinces  inside  of  the  Great 
Wall  to  Kansu,  and  then  striking  across  the  Gobi  desert 
to  Hami,  following  throughout  the  main  route  between 
Peking  and  Chinese  Turkestan.  To  my  lot  fell  the  newer 
and  more  purely  exploring  work,  and  it  was  determined 
that  I should  follow  the  direct  road  across  the  Gobi  desert, 
and,  if  possible,  meet  Colonel  Bell  at  Hami.*  Colonel 

* This  route  had  never  previously,  nor,  as  far  as  I am  aware,  has  it  since 
been,  traversed  by  a European.  It  lies  midway  between  the  high-road  to 
Chinese  Turkestan  and  the  route  which  Mr.  Ney  Elias  followed  in  1872  on 
his  way  from  Peking  to  Siberia,  and  for  the  exploration  of  which  he 
obtained  the  Gold  Medal  of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society. 


1887] 


A COLOSSAL  UNDERTAKING 


57 


Bell  then  left  Peking,  after  fixing  a date  on  which  we 
should  meet  at  Hami,  and  my  friends  in  the  Legation  said 
that,  judging  from  the  general  style  of  his  movements, 
they  thought  it  extremely  improbable  that  he  would  wait 
for  me  there  more  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour.  As  it 
turned  out,  we  never  met  again  till  we  arrived  in  India, 
and  then  Colonel  Bell  told  me  that  he  really  had  waited 
for  me  a whole  day  in  Hami — this  place  in  the  middle 
of  Central  Asia,  nearly  two  thousand  miles  from  our 
starting-point — and,  astonished  at  finding  I had  not  turned 
up  to  date,  had  proceeded  on  his  way  to  India. 

Meanwhile,  I had  to  remain  in  Peking  to  await  the 
reply  to  the  telegram  to  the  Viceroy,  and  occupy  myself 
in  sundry  preparations  and  in  the  search  for  an  interpreter. 
A favourable  reply  arrived,  and  then  Sir  John  Walsham, 
with  his  usual  kindness,  interested  himself  in  procuring 
for  me  the  best  passport  it  was  possible  to  obtain  from  the 
Chinese,  and  that  having  been  obtained,  April  4,  1887, 
was  fixed  as  the  date  of  my  departure  from  Peking. 

The  evening  preceding  my  departure  was  one  which  it 
will  be  hard  indeed  to  forget,  and  I think  I realised  then 
for  the  first  time  clearly  what  I was  undertaking.  Lady 
Walsham  asked  me  after  dinner  to  mark  on  a map  for  her 
the  route  I proposed  to  follow,  and  to  tell  her  exactly  what 
I hoped  to  do.  Then,  as  I traced  out  a pencil  line  along 
the  map  of  Asia,  I first  seemed  to  appreciate  the  task 
I had  before  me.  Everything  was  so  vague.  Nowhere  in 
Peking  had  we  been  able  to  obtain  information  about  the 
road  across  the  desert.  I had  never  been  in  a desert,  and 
here  were  a thousand  miles  or  so  of  one  to  be  crossed. 
Nor  had  we  any  information  of  the  state  of  the  country  on 
the  other  side  of  the  desert.  It  was  held  by  the  Chinese, 
we  knew,  but  how  held,  what  sort  of  order  was  preserved 
in  the  country,  and  how  a solitary  European  traveller 
would  be  likely  to  fare  among  the  people,  we  knew  not. 
Lastly,  at  the  back  of  all,  looming  darkly  in  the  extremest 
distance,  were  the  Himalayas,  to  cross  which  had  pre- 
viously been  considered  a journey  in  itself. 

All  the  terrible  vagueness  and  uncertainty  of  everything 


58  PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 

impressed  itself  on  me  as  I traced  that  pencil  line  on  the 
map.  It  was  a real  plunge  into  the  unknown  I was  about 
to  make,  and,  however  easy  the  route  might  afterwards 
prove  to  future  travellers,  I felt  that  it  was  this  first 
plunging  in  that  was  the  true  difficulty  in  the  matter. 
Had  but  one  traveller  gone  through  before  me  ; had  I 
even  now  with  me  a companion  upon  whom  I could  rely, 
or  one  good  servant  whom  I could  trust  to  stand  by  me, 
the  task  would  have  seemed  easy  in  comparison.  But  all 
was  utterly  dark  before  me,  and  the  journey  was  to  be 
made  alone  with  the  Chinese  servant  whom  I had  found 
in  Peking. 

That  last  night  in  safety  and  civilisation,  all  these 
difficulties  and  uncertainties  weighed  heavily  upon  me. 
But  with  the  morning  they  were  forgotten,  and  they  never 
troubled  me  again.  The  start  was  to  be  made,  and  the 
real  excitement  begun,  and  an  unalterable  conviction 
came  over  me  that  somehow  or  other  I should  find  myself 
in  India  in  a few  months’  time. 

Sir  John  and  Lady  Walsham  and  all  the  members  of 
the  Legation  collected  at  the  gateway  to  bid  me  good-bye, 
and,  as  they  did  so,  I tried  to  thank  them  for  all  the  many 
kindnesses  they  had  shown  me,  and  for  the  goodwill  and 
interest  they  had  taken  in  my  plans.  There  are  many 
things  one  looks  back  to  on  a journey,  but  few  things 
cheered  me  so  much  in  my  more  dejected  moments  as  the 
vivid  recollection  I used  to  keep  of  what  I felt  were  the 
sincerely  meant  good  wishes  of  the  friends  I was  just 
leaving. 

Then  I rode  out  of  the  gateway  and  beyond  the  walls 
of  Peking,  and  was  fairly  launched  on  my  journey.  Just 
a few  pangs  of  depression  and  a few  spectres  of  difficulties 
appeared  at  first,  and  then  they  vanished  for  good  ; and, 
as  the  hard  realities  of  the  journey  began  to  make  them- 
selves felt,  I braced  myself  up  and  prepared  to  face  what- 
ever might  occur  without  thinking  of  what  was  behind. 

With  me  at  starting  was  one  Chinese  servant  who  had 
accompanied  Mr.  James  through  Manchuria,  and  who  was 
to  act  as  interpreter,  but  who  afterwards  gave  up  when 


OPIUM-SMOKING 


59 


1887] 

we  came  to  the  edge  of  the  desert ; and  a second,  Liu-san, 
who  eventually  travelled  with  me  the  whole  way  to  India, 
acting  in  turn  as  interpreter,  cook,  table-servant,  groom, 
and  carter.  He  served  me  well  and  faithfully,  and  he  was 
always  hard-working  and  willing  to  face  the  difficulties  of 
the  road.  And  when  I think  of  all  that  depended  on  this, 
my  single  servant  and  companion,  I cannot  feel  too  grate- 
ful for  the  fidelity  he  showed  in  accompanying  me. 

For  the  first  two  weeks,  as  far  as  Kwei-hwa-cheng,  the 
baggage  was  carried  in  carts,  while  I rode.  The  day 
after  leaving  Peking  we  passed  through  the  inner  branch 
of  the  Great  Wall  at  the  Nankow  gate,  and  a couple  of 
days  later  at  Kalgan  I saw  the  outer  branch.  Just  here 
this  Great  Wall  of  China  was  a wonderful  sight ; but 
when  I passed  through  it  again  a march  or  two  west  of 
Kalgan  it  had  dwindled  down  to  very  insignificant  pro- 
portions. I describe  it  in  my  diary  as  a “miserable 
structure,  bearing  no  resemblance  to  the  gigantic  edifice 
near  Peking.  It  is  about  twenty  feet  high,  made  of  mud, 
crumbling  to  pieces,  and  with  large  gaps.  At  intervals 
of  from  half  a mile  to  a mile  there  are  mud-built  towers.” 

At  Kalgan  I found  a little  missionary  colony  of 
Americans,  among  whom  Mr.  Sprague  was  most  kind 
in  giving  me  assistance  and  trying  to  obtain  information 
about  this  route  across  the  desert  from  Kwei-hwa-cheng 
which  I would  have  to  follow.  Besides  Mr.  Sprague, 
there  was  Mr.  Williams  and  two  lady  doctor  missionaries. 
Miss  Diament  and  Miss  Murdock,  who  seemed  to  me  to 
do  much  good.  A medical  missionary  has  a great  pull. 
He  (in  this  case  she)  can  show  charity  and  goodwill  in 
a clear,  tangible,  practical  form,  which  is,  generally  speak- 
ing, much  appreciated.  These  lady  doctors  appeared  to 
go  in  specially  for  opium  cures.  They,  like  most  of  the 
missionaries  one  meets  in  China,  had  a great  deal  to  say 
against  the  habit  of  opium-smoking,  and  described  very 
vividly  its  evil  consequences  and  the  difficulty  of  getting 
rid  of  the  habit  when  once  acquired.  This,  in  fact,  seems 
to  be  one  of  the  greatest  objections  to  it.  A man  who  has 
once  acquired  the  habit  cannot  get  out  of  it.  Miss  Murdock 


6o  PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 

described  to  me  how  men  affected  in  this  way  used  to 
come  and  implore  her  to  cure  them  ; but  her  only  effectual 
method  was  to  confine  them.  She  would  make  them  pay 
for  their  food,  and  also  produce  a surety  who  would  be 
responsible,  if  the  patient  died,  for  the  removal  of  the 
body.  In  this  stern  way  she  had  effected  many  cures, 
though  she  was  disappointed  at  times  in  finding  her 
patient  going  back  to  the  habit  again  when  temptation 
was  thrown  in  his  way. 

M.  Ivanoff,  a Russian  tea-merchant,  was  another  of  the 
Europeans  I met  at  Kalgan.  It  is  always  a pleasure  to 
meet  a Russian.  He  is  invariably  so  frank  and  hearty. 
No  one  would  ever  accuse  a Russian  of  not  being  warm- 
hearted, and  to  a stranger  in  a strange  land  this  Russian 
merchant  was  particularly  so.  He  at  once  produced  maps 
and  books  to  look  up  information  for  me,  and  insisted 
upon  presenting  me  with  a new  map,  and  a particularly 
good  one,  which  was  afterwards  of  the  utmost  service  to 
me.  I like  to  record  these  little  acts  of  kindness  and 
consideration  which  I have  received  from  Russians  in- 
dividually, because  I believe  there  are  no  two  nations  that 
would  take  to  each  other  more  than  the  Russians  and 
ourselves,  if  the  opportunity  were  forthcoming,  and  the 
more  the  members  of  each  nation  know  each  other  the 
better  it  would  be  for  us  both. 

Another  of  the  acquaintances  I made  at  Kalgan  was 
the  ex-captain  of  a Chinese  gunboat  which  had  been 
engaged  in  the  action  at  Foochow  during  the  Franco- 
Chinese  war.  His  was  a curious  story.  The  Chinese 
have  a principle  that  in  a battle  a commander  must  either 
be  victorious  or  else  die.  This  man’s  vessel  had  been 
moored  at  some  distance  from  the  French  fleet,  and  had 
consequently  escaped  the  fate  of  the  rest  of  the  Chinese 
ships,  and  had  not  been  blown  out  of  the  water.  The 
captain,  seeing  the  day  was  lost,  and  not  being  able  to  do 
anything  to  retrieve  the  disaster  with  his  little  gunboat, 
had  run  ashore  and  escaped.  The  Chinese  Emperor,  how- 
ever, considered  this  a most  ignominious  proceeding.  If 
the  French  had  not  killed  him,  he  ought  to  have  killed 


HELPS  AND  HINDRANCES 


6i 


1887] 


himself,  and,  as  he  had  not  done  so,  he  was  ordered  into 
exile  for  life  to  the  Mongolian  border,  and  told  to  think 
himself  fortunate  that  he  had  not  been  executed.  And 
here  the  poor  little  gentleman  was — very  sore  against  his 
own  government,  but  lively  and  cheery  withal,  and 
certainly  most  useful  to  me.  He  used  to  accompany  me 
for  hours  through  the  bazaars,  trying  to  get  things  which 
I wanted,  or  to  obtain  information  about  the  road. 

Kalgan  has  some  very  good  shops,  and  I even  bought 
a watch  there.  It  does  an  immense  trade  with  the 
Mongfols,  and  with  the  caravans  which  start  from  there 
northwards  across  the  desert  to  Siberia.  But  even  here 
we  could  learn  nothing  about  the  route  across  the  desert 
from  Kwei-hwa-cheng.  It  is  extraordinary  how  devoid 
the  Chinese  are  of  anything  like  an  instinct  for  geography. 
Anything  beyond  a man’s  own  town  or  the  road  he  works 
on  has  no  interest  for  him,  and  he  knows  nothing  of. 
Caravans  start  regularly  from  Kwei-hwa-cheng  across  the 
desert  to  Hami.  Kwei-hwa-cheng  is  only  a week’s  journey 
from  Kalgan,  and  Kalgan  is  a great  trading  centre,  and 
yet  nowhere  in  the  place  was  information  to  be  obtained 
of  the  route  by  which  we  had  to  go.  How  different  all 
this  is  from  what  one  sees  in  the  bazaars  of  Central  Asia, 
where  the  merchants  — some  from  India,  some  from 
Turkestan,  some  from  Afghanistan — meet  and  talk  over 
the  countries  they  have  travelled  over  and  the  state  of 
the  roads,  and  where  a traveller  can  always  obtain  a fair 
general  idea  of  any  caravan  route  now  in  use  ! 

A feature  of  travelling  in  China  is  the  elaborate  agree- 
ment which  has  to  be  made  with  the  carters.  Before 
leaving  Pekin,  Mr.  Hillier,  who  in  such  matters  was  one 
of  the  most  obliging  and  careful  men  I have  met,  had 
drawn  up  a document  which  appeared  as  comprehensive 
as  a royal  proclamation  or  a lawyer’s  deed.  But  even  in 
that  the  carters  found  a flaw,  and  Mr.  Sprague  informed 
me  that  unless  I paid  some  more  money  they  would  not 
land  me  on  the  date  mentioned.  So  this  was  rectified, 
and  on  April  10  I started  from  Kalgan. 

We  now  left  the  great  caravan  route  from  Peking  to 


62  PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 

Siberia,  and  ascended  the  broad  valley  of  the  Yang-ho. 
Here  each  village  was  walled,  and  towers  were  scattered 
over  the  country — speaking  of  troublous  times  and  pre- 
datory bands.  The  fields  were  poorly  cultivated,  and 
the  people  less  well-to-do.  Although  we  were  well  into 
April,  the  weather  was  still  cold,  and  streams  were 
covered  with  ice  in  the  morning.  No  leaves  were  on  the 
trees  yet,  and  although  I was  wearing  a leather  coat, 
cardigan  jacket,  flannel  shirt,  and  vest,  I still  felt  it  cold 
riding  along  beside  the  carts. 

We  used,  too,  to  have  very  cold  winds  blowing  from 
the  northward — from  the  direction  of  the  high  plateau  of 
Mongolia.  These  blew  with  great  force,  and  clouds  of 
gritty,  sandy  dust  from  the  desert  and  from  the  bare  hill 
ranges  which  border  it  were  carried  along  with  them. 
This  well  accounts  for  the  dull,  hazy  atmosphere  so 
common  at  Peking,  which  is  seen  also  in  Chinese 
Turkestan.  It  was  this  wind  which  had  produced  the 
loess  formation,  which  is  met  with  in  many  parts  of 
Northern  China.  It  carries  down  all  the  dust  of  the 
desert  and  deposits  it  layer  upon  layer,  till  in  some 
places  it  reaches  a thickness  of  several  hundred  feet 
upon  the  plains  of  China.  Counter  winds  meet  the 
desert  winds,  and  from  that  and  other  causes  it  is 
brought  to  a standstill,  and  down  fall  the  particles  of 
dust  it  has  been  hurrying  along  with  it  on  to  the  ground 
below.  In  this  way  large  tracts  of  China  to  the  south 
of  the  desert  are  covered  with  the  loess  formation.  It 
makes  a light,  very  friable  kind  of  soil,  which  crumbles 
away  on  the  least  pressure  being  put  on  it,  and  has  a 
tendency  to  cleave  vertically.  In  consequence  of  this, 
the  roads  through  a loess  formation  present  a very 
remarkable  appearance.  A cart  passes  over  the  loess. 
The  soil  breaks  away,  the  wind  blows  off  the  dust  thus 
formed,  and  a deep  track  is  the  result.  Other  carts 
follow,  more  loess  is  broken  up,  more  dust  blown  away, 
the  track  gets  deeper  and  deeper,  till  in  the  course  of 
centuries  a road  is  made  one  or  two  hundred  feet  below 
the  level  of  the  surrounding  country  ; and  this  road  is 


1887]  THE  LAND  OF  GOG  AND  MAGOG  63 

bounded  on  each  side  by  perpendicular  cliffs,  for,  as 
mentioned  above,  the  loess  has  a vertical  cleavage. 

In  the  valley  of  the  Yang-ho,  which  we  were  now 
ascending,  we  passed  along  roads  of  this  description. 
They  are  only  wide  enough  for  the  passage  of  one  cart, 
and  consequently,  before  entering  the  defile,  we  had  to 
send  on  a man  to  shout  and  stop  any  cart  coming  from 
the  opposite  direction. 

Donkeys  I note  as  having  been  particularly  fine  in  this 
district ; but  a circumstance  that  struck  me  very  much  in 
North  China  was,  that  the  mules  produced  by  a cross 
between  the  donkeys  and  ponies  of  the  country  are  very 
much  larger  than  either.  In  Peking  one  used  to  see 
magnificent  mules  in  the  carts  belonging  to  the  high 
officials.  I was  told  that  from  fifty  to  a hundred  pounds 
were  sometimes  given  for  the  highest  class  of  mules,  and 
these  animals  Avere  frequently  14*2  to  15  hands  in  height, 
and  fully  a hand  or  a hand  and  a half  higher  than  the 
ponies  they  were  bred  from. 

On  April  12  we  passed  through  the  Great  Wall,  and 
entered  what  Marco  Polo  calls  the  land  of  Gog  and 
Magog.  The  gate  of  the  Great  Wall  was  not  imposing, 
consisting  as  it  did  merely  of  a rough  framework  of 
wood,  near  which  was  a low  hut,  in  which  dwelt  a 
mandarin  with  a small  guard,  and  in  front  of  which  were 
two  small  cannons  fastened  on  to  a piece  of  timber.  On 
either  side  of  the  gateway  were  large  gaps  in  the  wall — 
here  only  of  mud — which  carts  or  anything  else  might 
pass  through. 

On  the  14th,  after  starting  at  three  in  the  morning, 
we  emerged  on  to  the  broad,  open  plain  of  Mongolia 
proper.  It  was  a lovely  morning,  with  a faint  blue  haze 
over  the  low  hills,  which  edged  the  plain  on  each  side 
and  in  the  far  distance ; and  an  extraordinary  bounding 
sense  of  freedom  came  over  me  as  I looked  on  that  vast 
grassy  plain,  stretching  away  in  apparently  illimitable 
distance  all  round.  There  was  no  let  or  hindrance — one 
could  go  anywhere,  it  seemed,  and  all  nature  looked 
bright,  as  if  enticing  us  onward.  We  were  on  a rolling 


64  PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 

plain  of  grass.  Here  and  there  in  the  distance  could  be 
seen  collections  of  small  dots,  which,  as  we  came  nearer, 
proved  to  be  herds  of  camels  and  cattle.  Numbers  of 
larks  rose  on  every  side  and  brightened  the  morning 
with  their  singing.  Small  herds  of  deer  were  frequently 
met  with  ; bustard  too  were  seen,  while  numbers  of  geese 
and  duck  were  passing  overhead  in  their  flight  northward. 

Away  across  the  plains  we  had  seen  some  black  spots 
with  faint  columns  of  blue  smoke  rising  from  them  in 
the  morning  air.  These  were  the  yurts,  or  felt  tents,  of 
the  Mongols,  towards  which  we  were  making.  On  reach- 
ing them  I found  them  to  be  very  much  what  books  of 
travel  had  led  me  to  expect — dome-shaped,  with  a hole 
in  the  roof,  made  of  a framework  of  lattice,  with  felt 
bound  round  on  the  outside.  The  inhabitants  of  one  of 
them  made  room  for  me.  A felt  was  spread  out  to  lie  on, 
and  a couple  of  small  tables  placed  by  my  side.  All 
round  the  sides  of  the  tent  boxes  and  cupboards  were 
neatly  arranged,  and  at  one  end  were  some  vases  and 
images  of  Buddha.  In  the  centre  was  the  fireplace, 
situated  directly  beneath  the  hole  in  the  roof.  I was 
charmed  with  the  comfort  of  the  place.  The  Chinese 
inns,  at  which  I had  so  far  had  to  put  up,  were  cold 
and  draughty.  Here  the  sun  came  streaming  in  through 
the  hole  in  the  top,  and  there  were  no  draughts  whatever. 
There  was  no  dust  either ; and  this  being  the  tent  of  a 
well-to-do  Mongol,  it  was  clean  and  neatly  arranged. 

The  whole  family  collected  to  see  my  things,  and  pulled 
my  kit  to  pieces.  The  sponge  was  a source  of  great  won- 
der ; but  what  attracted  them  most  of  all  was  a concave 
shaving-mirror,  which  magnified  and  contorted  the  face 
in  a marvellous  way.  They  shrieked  with  laughter  at  it, 
and  made  the  young  girls  look  at  their  faces  in  it,  telling 
them  they  need  not  be  proud  of  their  good  looks,  as  that 
was  what  they  were  really  like. 

It  was  a pleasure  getting  among  those  jolly,  round- 
faced,  ruddy-cheeked  Mongols,  after  living  amongst  the 
unhealthy-looking  Chinese  of  the  country  we  had  been 
travelling  through  lately,  who  showed  little  friendliness 


1887]  MONGOLIA  AND  THE  MONGOLS 


65 


or  good-humour,  and  always  seemed  to  cause  a bad  taste 
in  the  mouth.  These  first  Mongols  whom  I met  happened 
to  be  an  unusually  attractive  lot.  They  were,  of  course, 
better  off  than  those  whom  I afterwards  met  with  far  away 
in  the  desert,  and  this  perhaps  accounted  for  their  ever- 
cheery  manner,  which  left  such  an  agreeable  impression 
on  me. 

Another  attraction  of  this  first  day  in  Mongolia  was 
the  milk  and  cream — thick  and  rich  as  one  could  get 
anywhere  ; and  here,  again,  was  a pleasing  contrast  to 
China,  where,  as  I have  said,  the  cows  are  never  milked, 
and  none  is  therefore  procurable. 

Altogether  this  was  one  of  those  bright  days  which 
throw  all  the  hardships  of  travel  far  away  into  the  shade, 
and  make  the  traveller  feel  that  the  net  result  of  all  is 
the  highest  enjoyment.  The  shadows  have  only  served 
to  show  up  the  light,  and  bring  out  more  clearly  the 
attractions  of  a free,  roaming  life. 

On  the  following  day  we  entered  some  hilly  country 
again.  On  the  road  we  saw  some  partridges,  which 
allowed  the  carter  to  walk  right  up  to  them  so  that  he 
was  able  to  hit  one  with  his  whip,  and  even  then  the 
others  did  not  go,  till  they  also  were  hit  with  the  whip. 
At  the  end  of  the  march  we  came  upon  country  cultivated 
by  Chinamen,  who  here,  as  nearly  all  along  the  borders 
of  Mongolia,  are  encroaching  on  the  Mongols,  and 
gradually  driving  them  out  of  the  best  country  back 
to  the  desert.  The  slack,  easy-going  Mongol  cannot 
stand  before  the  pushing,  industrious  Chinaman  ; so 
back  and  back  he  goes.  It  is  the  old  story  which  is 
seen  all  through  nature — the  weak  and  lazy  succumbing 
to  the  strong  and  vigorous.  The  observer’s  sympathies 
are  all  with  the  Mongol,  though,  and  he  feels  regret  at 
seeing  the  cold,  hard-natured  Chinaman  taking  the  place 
of  the  open-hearted  Mongol. 

A point  to  be  noticed  at  this  time  of  year  was  the  rapid 
changes  of  temperature.  It  may  be  quite  mild  in  the 
morning,  with  a soft  balmy  feeling  in  the  air.  Then 
suddenly  a bitter  wind  will  spring  up,  and  the  ther- 

F 


66 


PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 


mometer  will  instantly  fall  ten  degrees.  The  inhabitants 
appeared  to  suffer  much  from  this  cause,  and  fevers  and 
sickness  are  common  at  this  season. 

As  we  neared  Kwei-hwa-cheng,  which  we  reached  on 
April  17,  the  country  became  more  and  more  thickly 
populated — entirely  with  Chinamen,  though,  properly 
speaking,  the  district  is  part  of  Mongolia — and  an  in- 
creasing amount  of  traffic  was  met  with  on  the  roads. 
Numbers  of  the  small  description  of  carts  were  seen, 
crammed  full  of  goods  inside  and  out,  and  frequently 
carrying  as  much  as  1,000  catties  (1,380  lbs.),  and  the 
long,  heavy  carts  laden  with  hides.  The  number  of 
Tungles  was  also  noticeable,  and  sometimes  in  the  hills 
would  be  seen  the  cave-houses  cut  into  the  loess. 

On  arrival  at  Kwei-hwa-cheng,  I called  on  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  G.  W.  Clarke  of  the  China  Inland  Mission,  to 
whom  I had  a letter  of  introduction.  I met  with  that 
warm  reception  which  is  characteristic  of  missionaries ; 
a room  was  prepared  for  me,  and  the  most  real  hospitality 
shown  me,  Mr.  Clarke  had  been  established  here  for 
two  years  now,  and  was,  I believe,  the  first  permanent 
missionary  to  reside  in  the  place.  I had  not  before  met 
a member  of  the  China  Inland  Mission  in  his  home,  and 
consequently  was  especially  interested  in  hearing  Mr. 
Clarke’s  account  of  his  work.  The  zeal  and  energy  which 
this  mission  shows  are  marvellous.  Its  members  dress  as 
Chinamen,  live  right  away  in  the  interior,  in  the  very 
heart  of  China,  and  make  it  their  endeavour  to  get  really 
in  touch  with  the  people.  They  receive  no  regular  pay, 
but  as  money  comes  in  to  the  mission,  enough  is  sent 
them  to  cover  the  bare  expenses  of  living.  Often,  through 
the  lack  of  funds,  they  are  on  the  point  of  starving,  and 
Mrs,  Clarke  told  me  how,  upon  one  occasion,  she  had 
been  for  two  or  three  weeks  with  literally  no  money  and 
no  food,  so  that  she  had  to  beg  her  way  and  sell  her 
clothes  to  raise  money  as  best  she  could  till  funds  arrived 
from  headquarters. 

The  mission  takes  in  laymen,  as  well  as  ordained 
ministers,  and  followers  of  varying  persuasions  ; and 


THE  CHINA  INLAND  MISSION 


67 


1887] 

there  is  an  excellent  rule  that,  for  a year  or  two  after 
coming  to  China,  the  recruits  need  not  belong  per- 
manently to  the  mission  ; but,  if  they  find  that  they 
are  not  suited  for  the  work,  can  return  to  England.  The 
wisdom  of  this  rule  anyone  can  readily  understand,  who 
has  seen  what  work  in  the  interior  of  China  really  means, 
and  how  different  it  is  from  any  conception  of  it  which 
can  be  formed  in  England.  It  must  be  a stern,  true 
heart  indeed  which  can  stand  the  dreary  years  spent 
almost  — sometimes  quite  — alone  in  a remote  Chinese 
town,  far  away  from  all  the  glamour  and  catching  enthu- 
siasm of  a missionary  meeting  at  home,  and  surrounded 
by  cold-blooded,  unemotional  Chinamen  who  by  instinct 
hate  you.  No  comfort  about  you,  nothing  but  what  you 
have  within  you  to  keep  up  your  enthusiasm  ; but,  on  the 
contrary,  everything  to  quench  it.  To  keep  up  your  work 
under  these  circumstances,  you  must  have  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  zeal.  And  it  is  because  the  directors  of  the  mission 
recognise  that  many  who  come  out  raw  from  England 
cannot  have  such  a vast  reserve  of  zeal,  that  they  have 
wisely  given  everyone  the  chance  of  returning.  Another 
good  principle,  as  I learnt  from  Mr.  Clarke,  was  laid 
down  by  Mr.  Hudson  Taylor,  the  founder  and  director 
of  the  mission — not  to  appeal  to  the  British  minister  or 
consul  for  assistance,  except  when  it  was  absolutely 
necessary. 

Mr.  Clarke  had  travelled  for  sixteen  thousand  miles  in 
China  during  his  long  sojourn  as  a missionary  in  that 
country,  and  had  resided  in  nearly  every  part  of  it. 
During  the  Franco-Chinese  war  he  was  in  Yunan,  and 
he  gave  me  some  amusing  details  of  the  way  in  which 
troops  were  raised  there.  When  the  nation  is  at  war,  one 
would  naturally  suppose  the  standing  army  would  be 
used  first.  But  the  Chinese,  in  this  as  in  most  other 
things,  do  precisely  the  opposite  to  every  one  else.  The 
regulars  said,  “We  must  not  go  away  from  our  town  to 
fight.  Our  business  is  to  defend  the  town.  If  any  one 
attacks  that,  we  will  keep  it  to  the  last,  but  we  must  not 
leave  it.”  So  when  the  Chinese  had  to  fight  the  French 


68  PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 

in  Tonquin,  they  were  obliged  to  send  out  to  the  farms 
and  villages,  offering  men  who  would  fight  rather  higher 
wages  than  they  would  get  in  ordinary  civil  life.  In  this 
way  the  generals  of  a district  would  raise  a certain 
number  of  men,  say  a couple  of  thousand.  These  would  be 
sent  off  to  the  war  under  four  colonels,  who  would  receive 
from  government  the  pay  for  each  man.  But  the  colonels 
had  to  feather  their  nests,  so  they  would  give  a certain 
number  of  men  a premium  to  go  off  home  again,  and  then 
they  (the  colonels)  would  go  on  drawing  the  pay  of  the 
absentees  from  government,  and  put  it  all  into  their  own 
pockets.  Thus,  out  of  the  two  thousand  who  were  origin- 
ally sent  off,  probably  about  one  thousand  only  would 
reach  the  seat  of  war,  while  the  colonels  would  pocket  the 
pay  of  the  other  thousand.  So  there  were  not  half  the 
number  of  troops  in  Tonquin  that  were  reported  to  have 
been  there. 

Then  the  numbers  of  the  French  troops  which  Chinese 
generals  reported  to  Peking  as  having  been  opposed  to 
them  is  marvellous.  I had  an  opportunity  once  of  reading, 
side  by  side,  the  despatches  of  the  Chinese  commander 
(published  in  the  Peking  Gazette)  and  the  despatches  of 
the  French  general  (published  by  the  French  Govern- 
ment) about  the  same  battles.  It  was  most  instructive 
reading.  The  Chinese  reported  to  the  emperor,  and  the 
emperor,  I suppose,  solemnly  believed,  that  the  French 
had  from  ten  to  twenty  times  the  number  they  really  had  ; 
and  the  slaughter  these  gallant  Chinese  soldiers  effected 
beats  everything  previously  recorded  in  history.  Ac- 
cording to  the  Peking  Gazette,  no  less  than  1,800,000 
Frenchmen  were  actually  killed  in  the  Tonquin  war  ; and, 
according  to  the  same  authority.  Admiral  Courbet  was 
killed  on  forty-six  separate  occasions. 

While  our  preparations  were  in  progress,  Mr.  Clarke 
and  I took  many  walks  through  Kwei-hwa-cheng.  It  is  a 
curious  town,  and  seems  to  have  outgrown  itself  on  two 
separate  occasions.  Originally  enclosed  within  walls 
about  three  hundred  yards  square,  which  are  still  remain- 
ing, it  outgrew  these,  and  an  outer  wall  was  built  all 


A MONGOL  BAZAAR 


69 


1887] 

round  about  a mile  square.  This  also  it  outgrew,  and 
large  numbers  of  houses  have  been  built  beyond  the 
second  wall.  At  the  time  of  my  visit,  however,  the  popula- 
tion was  falling  off,  and  the  place  was  losing  a great  deal 
of  its  former  importance  as  a depot  of  trade  with  Mon- 
golia. Mr.  Clarke  said  that  there  were  two  reasons  for 
this : firstly,  because  the  tea,  which  used  formerly  to  be 
brought  up  from  Hankow  to  this  place,  and  then  taken 
across  the  Gobi  desert  to  Kiakhta,  is  now  carried  by 
steamers  to  Tientsin,  and  thence  by  Kalgan  to  Kiakhta 
and  Siberia;  and,  secondly,  because  the  war  in  Kashgaria 
and  the  Tungan  rebellion  had  almost  stopped  trade  for 
some  years,  and  it  had  never  since  revived. 

Kwei-hwa-cheng  used  originally  to  be  a Mongol  town. 
It  is  even  now  included  in  Mongolia,  and  there  is  a 
Mongol  prince  resident  in  the  place  ; but  no  one  would 
believe  that  it  was  not  Chinese,  for  it  is  occupied  almost 
exclusively  by  Chinamen,  and  the  Mongols  are  relegated 
to  the  outskirts.  There  are,  however,  some  fine  Buddhist 
temples  and  a large  number  of  Mongol  lamas  in  the  city. 
These,  Mr.  Clarke  says,  are  much  less  sincere  in  their 
Buddhism  than  the  Chinese  Buddhist  priests.  Neither 
ought,  strictly  speaking,  to  eat  meat,  and  the  Chinese 
priests  as  a rule  do  not ; but  the  Mongols  have  more  lax 
ideas,  and  are  not  above  eating  flesh  occasionally.  The 
scene  in  the  Mongol  bazaar,  on  the  north  side  of  the  inner 
city,  is  very  interesting.  Here  are  seen  the  weather- 
beaten, ruddy-faced  Mongols  from  the  desert,  with  their 
huge  foxskin  caps  and  dirty  sheepskin  coats,  coming  in  to 
buy  a few  necessaries,  which  they  are  unable,  or  rather  too 
lazy,  to  make  for  themselves,  and  bargaining  at  the  stalls, 
with  the  astute  Chinese  stall-keepers,  for  leather  boots, 
whips,  pipes,  caps,  and  various  other  things.  And  there 
are  the  Chinese  caravan-men  buying  up  requisites  for 
marching  in  the  desert — camel  pack-saddles,  water-casks, 
sacks  for  provisions,  ropes,  and  all  the  odds  and  ends 
which  have  to  be  taken.  Apart  from  their  general  sun- 
burnt and  weather-beaten  appearance,  there  is  an  unmis- 
takable look  about  these  caravan-men  by  which  they  can 


70  PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 

always  be  distinguished.  They  invariably  have  a peculiar 
slouch,  a bend-over  from  the  hips,  and  a stoop  about  the 
shoulders,  acquired  from  riding  night  after  night  during 
those  long  dreary  desert  marches,  bent  over  on  the  back 
of  a camel,  or  trudging  along  by  its  side  in  the  listless, 
half-sleepy  way  one  cannot  help  indulging  in  on  those 
monotonous  plains. 

The  retail  trade  of  Kwei-hwa-cheng  seems  to  be  almost 
entirely  in  articles  required  by  travellers  and  by  the  Mon- 
gols. Good  coal  is  obtainable  within  two  days. 

Preparations  for  crossing  the  Gobi  Desert  to  Hami  had 
now  to  be  made.  Kwei-hwa-cheng  was  the  last  town  in 
this  direction,  and  the  starting-point  of  caravans  for 
Eastern  Turkestan.  Carts,  or  rather  the  mules  or  ponies 
which  drew  them,  could  go  no  further,  so  I had  to  dis- 
charge them  and  look  out  for  camels.  Sallying  forth  to 
the  town  on  the  day  after  my  arrival,  I went  with  Mr. 
Clarke  to  visit  the  establishment  of  one  of  the  great  firms 
which  trade  with  Turkestan.  Here  in  the  yards  we  saw 
rows  of  neatly  bound  loads  of  merchandise,  brick  tea, 
cotton  goods,  silk,  china,  and  ironmongery,  all  being 
made  up  ready  for  a caravan  which  was  about  to  start  for 
Guchen,  a town  some  seven  marches  beyond  Hami  in  the 
direction  of  Kulja.  Full  information  about  the  route  was 
now  at  last  forthcoming,  and  I looked  with  the  profoundest 
interest  on  men  who  had  actually  been  to  these  mist-like 
towns  of  Central  Asia.  It  appeared  that  there  was  a 
recognised  route  across  the  desert,  and  that  during  the 
winter  months  a caravan  would  start  about  once  a month. 
But  Guchen  was  the  place  to  which  the  caravans  ordinarily 
went,  and  Hami  was  only  occasionally  visited  by  them. 
The  road  to  the  latter  place  branched  off  at  about  ten 
marches  from  Hami.  We  were  told  that  these  caravans 
took  from  eighty  to  ninety  days  to  reach  Guchen,  and 
some  ten  days  less  to  Hami.  Dried  apricots  from  Hami 
and  raisins  from  Turfan  were  apparently  all  that  was 
brought  back  in  return  from  Turkestan.  The  ordinary 
charge  for  carriage  from  Kwei-hwa-cheng  to  Guchen,  I 
was  told,  was  i6  taels  (about  £/\.)  for  a camel-load  of 


i887]  preparing  TO  CROSS  THE  GOBI  71 

240  lbs.  This  track  across  the  desert  is,  however,  only 
used  for  merchants’  caravans,  and  the  official  track  from 
Kwei-hwa-cheng  to  Hami  is  by  Uliasutai  and  Kobdo,  the 
one  followed  by  Mr.  Ney  Elias  in  1877.  Soldiers  return- 
ing from  Zungaria  do  so  by  Kiakhta  and  across  the  Gobi 
to  Kalagan. 

We  did  not  at  first  succeed  in  finding  a man  who  was 
willing  to  hire  out  camels  to  go  on  such  a long  journey 
with  so  small  a party  as  ours  would  be.  Men  had  no 
objection  to  travelling  in  large  caravans,  but  they  did  not 
like  the  idea  of  starting  across  the  desert  with  a party 
of  only  four.  But  I could  not  wait  for  the  caravan  which 
was  about  to  start.  By  doing  so  I might  be  detained 
in  one  way  and  another  for  some  weeks,  and  as  I had  the 
whole  length  of  Chinese  Turkestan  to  traverse,  and  to 
cross  the  Himalayas  before  winter  closed  in,  I could  not 
afford  such  a delay.  It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  at  this 
juncture  I had  the  aid  and  experience  of  Mr.  Clarke  at  my 
disposal.  He  was  indefatigable  in  his  search  for  a man, 
and  eventually  found  a Chinese  native  of  Guchen  who 
undertook  to  hire  me  out  five  camels,  to  carry  300  lbs. 
each,  for  180  taels  (about  ;^'45),  and  to  provide  a guide  to 
accompany  my  party  across  the  desert  to  Hami.  A solemn 
agreement  was  then  drawn  up,  and  it  was  stipulated  that, 
for  the  above  sum,  we  were  to  be  landed  at  Hami  in  sixty 
days. 

To  consult  a Chinese  almanac  for  an  auspicious  day  on 
which  to  start  was  the  next  thing  to  be  done.  The  guide 
was  very  particular  about  this,  as  he  said  it  would  never 
do  to  start  in  a casual  way  on  a journey  like  this.  We 
must  be  most  careful  about  the  date  of  starting.  The 
23rd,  24th,  and  25th  of  April  were  all  in  turn  rejected,  for 
one  reason  after  another,  and  the  26th  was  finally  settled 
upon  as  being  suitable  in  all  respects. 

In  the  meanwhile  there  was  plenty  of  work  to  be  done, 
laying  in  provisions  and  providing  ourselves  with  every 
possible  necessary.  Nothing  would  be  procurable  on  the 
way  except  perhaps  a sheep  here  and  there,  so  we  had 
to  buy  up  supplies  of  all  kinds  sufficient  to  last  the  party 


72 


PEKING  TO  KWEI-HWA-CHENG  [chap,  iv 


for  two  months.  Some  people  think  that  on  a journey 
it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  make  themselves  as  uncom- 
fortable as  possible.  But  I had  learnt  by  experience  to 
think  otherwise,  and  determined  to  treat  myself  as  well  as 
circumstances  would  permit,  so  that,  when  it  should 
become  really  necessary  to  rough  it  (as  it  afterwards  did 
during  the  passage  of  the  Himalayas),  I should  be  fit  and 
able  to  do  it.  So,  besides  a couple  of  sacks  of  flour,  a 
sack  of  rice,  and  thirty  tins  of  beef,  which  were  to  be  our 
main  stand-by,  I had  also  brought  from  Peking  such 
luxuries  as  a few  tins  of  preserved  milk,  butter,  and  soup  ; 
and  here  in  Kwei-hwa-cheng  I procured  some  dried 
apricots  and  raisins,  a sack  of  Mongolian  mushrooms, 
which  gave  a most  excellent  relish  to  the  soup,  another 
sack  of  potatoes,  a bag  of  dried  beans,  which  Mr.  Clarke 
gave  me,  and  lastly  some  oatmeal.  All  these  luxuries 
added  very  little  really  to  the  total  amount  of  baggage, 
and  even  if  they  had  made  an  extra  camel-load,  it  would 
not  have  hindered  the  journey  in  any  way,  while  they 
added  very  considerably  to  my  efficiency. 

A tent  was  made  up  in  the  town  on  what  is  known 
in  India  as  the  Kabul  pattern  ; but,  as  it  afterwards  turned 
out,  this  was,  for  travelling  in  the  desert,  about  the  very 
worst  description  of  tent  possible.  The  violent  winds 
so  constant  there  catch  the  walls  of  it  and  make  it  almost 
impossible  to  keep  the  tent  standing.  What  I would 
recommend  for  future  travellers  is  a tent  like  my  guide’s, 
sloping  down  to  the  ground  at  the  ends  as  well  as  on  each 
side,  and  with  no  straight  wall  anywhere  to  catch  the 
wind. 

Rather  unusual  articles  of  equipment  were  two  water- 
casks,  which  we  filled  with  water  daily  on  the  march, 
so  that  if,  as  sometimes  happened,  we  lost  our  way  and 
missed  the  well,  or  found  it  choked  with  sand,  we  should 
always  have  something  to  fall  back  on. 


CHAPTER  V 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT 

“ But  here — above,  around,  below. 

On  mountain  or  on  glen. 

Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower. 
The  weary  eye  may  ken.” — Scott. 


The  auspicious  day,  April  26,  having  at  length 
arrived,  I had  reluctantly  to  say  good-bye  to  my 
kind  and  hospitable  friends — the  last  of  my  countrymen 
I should  see  for  many  a month  to  come — and  take  my 
plunge  into  the  Gobi  and  the  far  unknown  beyond.  It 
was  like  going  for  a voyage  ; all  supplies  were  taken,  and 
everything  made  snug  and  ready.  Ours  was  a compact 
little  party — the  camel-man,  who  acted  as  guide,  a Mon- 
gol assistant,  my  Chinese  “boy,”  eight  camels,  and  my- 
self. Chang-san,  the  interpreter,  had  gone  back  to 
Peking,  feeling  himself  unable  to  face  the  journey  before 
us,  and  so  I was  left  to  get  on  as  best  I could,  in  half- 
English,  half-Chinese,  with  the  boy,  Liu-san.  The 
guide  was  a doubled-up  little  man,  whose  eyes  were  not 
generally  visible,  though  they  sometimes  beamed  out 
from  behind  his  wrinkles  and  pierced  one  like  a gimlet. 
He  was  a wonderful  man,  and  possessed  a memory 
worthy  of  a student  of  Stokes.  The  way  in  which  he 
remembered  where  the  wells  were,  at  each  march  in  the 
desert,  was  simply  marvellous.  He  would  be  fast  asleep 
on  the  back  of  a camel,  leaning  right  over  with  his  head 
either  resting  on  the  camel’s  hump,  or  dangling  about 
beside  it,  when  he  would  suddenly  wake  up,  look  first  at 
the  stars,  by  which  he  could  tell  the  time  to  a quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  then  at  as  much  of  the  country  as  he  could 

73 


74 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

see  in  the  dark.  After  a time  he  would  turn  the  camel 
off  the  track  a little,  and  sure  enough  we  would  find  our- 
selves at  a well.  The  extraordinary  manner  in  which  he 
kept  the  way  surpasses  anything  I know  of.  As  a rule 
no  track  at  all  could  be  seen,  especially  in  the  sandy 
districts ; but  he  used  to  lead  us  somehow  or  other, 
generally  by  the  droppings  of  the  camels  of  previous 
caravans,  and  often  by  tracks  which  they  had  made, 
which  were  so  faint  that  I could  not  distinguish  them 
myself  even  when  pointed  out  to  me.  A camel  does  not 
leave  much  of  an  impression  upon  gravel,  like  a beaten- 
down  path  in  a garden  ; but  the  guide,  from  indications 
here  and  there,  managed  to  make  out  their  tracks  even  in 
the  dark.  Another  curious  thing  about  him  was  the  way 
he  used  to  go  to  sleep  walking.  His  natural  mode  of 
progression  was  by  bending  right  forward,  and  this 
seemed  to  keep  him  in  motion  without  any  trouble  to 
himself,  and  he  might  be  seen  mooning  along  fast  asleep. 
He  had,  however,  one  failing — he  was  a confirmed  opium- 
smoker  ; directly  camp  was  pitched  he  would  have  out  his 
opium-pipe,  and  he  used  to  smoke  off  and  on  till  we 
started  again.  I was  obliged  occasionally  to  differ  in 
opinion  from  this  gentleman,  as  will  be  seen  further  on  ; 
but,  on  the  whole,  we  got  on  well  together,  and  my  feel- 
ings towards  him  at  parting  were  more  of  sorrow  than  of 
anger,  for  he  had  a hard  life  of  it  going  backwards  and 
forwards  up  and  down  across  the  desert  almost  contin- 
uously for  twenty  years ; and  his  inveterate  habit  of 
opium-smoking  had  used  up  all  the  savings  he  ought 
to  have  accumulated  after  his  hard  life. 

The  Mongol  assistant,  whose  name  was  Ma-te-la,  was 
a careless,  good-natured  fellow,  always  whistling  or  sing- 
ing, and  bursting  out  into  roars  of  laughter  at  the 
slightest  thing,  especially  at  any  little  mishap.  He  used 
to  think  it  the  best  possible  joke  if  a camel  deposited  one 
of  my  boxes  on  to  the  ground  and  knocked  the  lid  off. 
He  never  ceased  wondering  at  all  my  things,  and  was  as 
pleased  as  a child  with  a new  toy  when  I gave  him  an 
empty  corned-beef  tin  when  he  left  me.  That  treasure 


MA-TE-LA 


75 


1887] 

of  an  old  tin  is  probably  as  much  prized  by  his  family 
now  as  some  jade  bowls  which  I brought  back  from  Yar- 
kand are  by  mine. 

Poor  Ma-te-la  had  to  do  a most  prodigious  amount  of 
work.  He  had  to  walk  the  whole — or  very  nearly  the 
whole — of  each  march,  leading  the  first  camel ; then, 
after  unloading  the  camels,  and  helping  to  pitch  the 
tents,  he  would  have  to  scour  the  country  round  for  the 
argals  or  droppings  of  camels,  which  were  generally  the 
only  thing  we  could  get  for  fuel.  By  about  two  in  the 
morning  he  could  probably  get  some  sleep  ; but  he  had 
to  lie  down  amongst  the  camels  in  order  to  watch  them, 
and  directly  day  dawned  he  would  get  up  and  take  them 
off  to  graze.  This  meant  wandering  for  miles  and  miles 
over  the  plain,  as  the  camels  are  obliged  to  pick  up  a 
mouthful  of  scrub,  here  and  there,  where  they  can,  and 
consequently  range  over  a considerable  extent  of  ground. 
He  would  come  into  camp  again  for  a short  time  for  his 
dinner,  and  then  go  off  again,  and  gradually  drive  the 
camels  up  to  be  ready  for  the  start ; then  he  would  have 
to  help  to  load  them,  and  start  off  on  the  march  again. 
It  used  to  seem  to  me  fearfully  hard  work  for  him,  but  he 
never  appeared  any  the  worse  for  it,  and  was  always 
bright  and  cheery.  I gave  him  a mount  one  day  on  one 
of  my  camels,  but  he  would  never  get  up  again,  as  he 
said  the  guide  would  give  him  no  wages  if  he  did. 

There  were  eight  camels.  I rode  one  myself,  four 
others  carried  my  baggage  and  stores,  and  my  servant 
rode  on  the  top  of  one  of  these  baggage  camels  ; of  the 
remaining  three,  one  carried  the  water,  one  was  laden 
with  brick  tea,  which  is  used  in  place  of  money  for  buy- 
ing things  from  the  Mongols,  and  the  third  was  loaded 
with  the  men’s  things.  The  total  weight  of  my  baggage, 
with  the  two  months’  stores,  servant’s  cooking  things, 
camp  equipage,  etc.,  was  1,416  lbs. 

We  left  Kwei-hwa-cheng  by  the  north  gate  of  the 
town,  and,  after  passing  for  some  five  miles  over  a well- 
cultivated  plain,  began  to  ascend  the  great  buttress  range 
on  to  the  Mongolian  plateau.  This  range,  called  the  In- 


76 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 


shan,  is,  as  it  were,  a support  to  the  highlands  of  Mon- 
golia, and  forms  the  step  up  on  to  them.  Crossing  these 
mountains  the  following  day,  we  afterwards  entered  an 
undulating  hilly  country,  inhabited  principally  by 
Chinese.  Villages  were  numerous,  cart-tracks  led  in 
every  direction,  and  the  valleys  were  well  cultivated. 
There  were  also  large  meadows  of  good  grass,  where 
immense  flocks  of  sheep  were  feeding  ; but  I was  as- 
tonished to  see  that,  although  we  were  now  in  Mongolia, 
the  largest  and  best  flocks  were  tended  by  and  belonged 
to  Chinese,  who  have  completely  ousted  the  Mongols  in 
the  very  thing  which,  above  all,  ought  to  be  their 
speciality.  It  is  really  a fact  that  the  Chinese  come  all 
the  way  from  the  province  of  Shantung  to  these  Mon- 
golian pasture-lands  to  fatten  sheep  for  the  Peking 
market.  Here  is  another  instance  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  pushing  and  industrious  Chinaman  is  forcing 
his  way,  and  gradually  driving  back  the  less  persevering 
inhabitants  of  the  country  on  which  he  encroaches  ; and 
it  seems  probable  that  the  Chinese  from  the  south,  and 
the  Russians  from  the  north,  will,  in  course  of  time, 
gradually  force  the  poor  Mongols  into  the  depth  of  the 
desert. 

Seeing  all  these  flocks  of  sheep,  it  occurred  to  me  that  it 
might  be  worth  while  for  some  of  our  merchants  to  set  up 
a wool-trade.  There  is  a large  amount  of  excellent  graz- 
ing ground  in  Southern  Mongolia,  and  it  would  only  be  a 
question  whether  the  cost  of  carriage  to  Tientsin  would 
make  it  possible  to  compete  with  the  Australian. 

Messrs.  G.  W.  Collins  and  Co.,  of  Tientsin,  have 
already  set  up  a trade  in  camels’  wool,  which  they  obtain 
from  this  part  of  Mongolia  through  their  agent  who  lives 
at  Kwei-hwa-cheng.  A beautifully  soft  warm  cloth  is 
made  from  this  camel-wool,  than  which  nothing  could  be 
better  for  wear  in  winter.  The  Mongolian  camel  * has 
very  long  hair  in  winter,  which  it  sheds  in  summer.  A 

* I refer  my  readers  to  a most  excellent  description  of  this  camel,  its 
habits  and  peculiarities,  given  by  Prjevalsky  in  his  book  Mojigolia,  trans- 
lated by  Mr.  Delmar  Morgan. 


1887] 


LIU-SAN  AND  HIS  REVOLVER 


77 


few  years  ago  a European  merchant  travelled  through 
Southern  Mongolia  and  established  a trade  in  this  wool, 
so  that  now  the  Mongols  and  Chinese  caravan-men  save  it 
up  instead  of  wasting  it,  as  formerly,  and  bring  it  in  for 
sale  at  Kwei-hwa-cheng. 

I was  warned  to  look  out  for  robbers  about  here.  Some 
uncanny-looking  gentlemen  came  prowling  about  my 
camp  one  day,  and  the  guide  told  me  to  keep  my  eye  well 
on  them  and  have  my  revolver  ready,  I was  in  some 
anxiety  about  my  Chinese  boy,  Liu-san.  He  knew  I 
must  have  a lot  of  money  with  me,  though  he  did  not 
know  exactly  where,  for  I hid  it  away  in  all  sorts  of  places; 
one  lump  of  silver  in  a sack  of  flour,  another  in  an  empty 
beef-tin,  and  so  on.  I was  at  first  afraid  that  if  a loaded 
revolver  were  given  him,  he  might  make  it  very  unpleasant 
for  me  one  day  in  the  wilds.  So,  to  inspire  awe  of  our 
party  in  outsiders,  I gave  him  an  unloaded  revolver ; but 
afterwards,  thinking  that  doing  things  by  halves  was  little 
good,  I loaded  it  for  him,  and  told  him  that  I had  the 
most  complete  trust  in  him.  He  and  I must  be  true  to 
each  other ; I would  look  after  him,  and  he  must  look 
after  me.  The  plan  answered  admirably ; he  used  to 
swagger  about  with  the  revolver,  showed  it  to  everybody 
he  met,  and  told  the  most  abominable  lies  about  the  fright- 
ful execution  he  could  do  with  it.  Nobody  can  lie  with 
such  good  effect  as  a Chinaman,  and  as  he  told  the  gaping 
Mongols  and  Turkis,  that  though  he  could  only  bowl  over 
about  twenty  men  at  a time  with  his  weapon,  I was  brist- 
ling all  over  with  much  more  deadly  instruments,  they 
used  to  look  upon  me  with  the  greatest  awe,  and  I never 
had  the  semblance  of  a disturbance  on  the  whole  of  my 
journey. 

Liu-san’s  propensity  for  fibbing  was  not  always  so  for- 
tunate, and  he  used  to  annoy  me  considerably  at  times  by 
telling  people  that  1 was  a man  of  great  importance,  with 
the  object,  of  course,  of  enhancing  his  own.  I used  to  see 
him  buttonhole  a grave  old  Turki,  and  tell  him  in  a 
subdued  whisper,  with  mysterious  glances  at  me,  that 
I was  “ Yang-ta-jen,”  the  great  man  Young(husband),  an 


78 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

influential  envoy  from  Peking,  and  that  the  utmost  respect 
must  be  shown  to  me.  Then  he  would  pretend  to  be  very 
obsequious  to  me,  and  bow  and  kowtow  in  the  most  servile 
manner.  It  was  hard  to  know  whether  to  be  angry  with 
him  or  to  laugh  over  it ; he  was  always  so  very  comical. 
There  would  be  a twinkle  in  his  eye  the  whole  time,  and 
now  and  then,  while  all  this  was  going  on,  he  used  to  say 
to  me  in  English  {his  English),  “I  think  master  belong 
big  gentleman;  no  belong  small  man.”  He  thought  1 was 
a big  gentleman  quite  off  his  head,  though,  to  go  wander- 
ing about  in  such  out-of-the-way  places,  instead  of  staying 
comfortably  at  home;  and  he  used  to  say,  “I  think  master 
got  big  heart;  Chinese  mandarin  no  do  this.” 

In  this  part  of  the  country  we  used  to  see  a great  many 
herds  of  deer — the  Chinese  huang-yang— and  the  Mongol 
hunters  have  a very  curious  way  of  shooting  them.  They 
set  up  a long  row  of  big  stones,  placed  at  intervals  of 
about  ten  yards  apart,  across  the  usual  track  of  the  deer ; 
the  deer,  as  they  come  along  over  the  smooth  plain,  are  so 
surprised  at  such  an  extraordinary  sight  that  they  pause 
and  have  a look  at  the  curious  phenomenon.  Then  the 
wary  Mongol  hunter,  crouching  behind  one  of  these 
stones,  applies  the  slowmatch  to  the  flash-pan  of  his 
matchlock  and  shoots  the  nearest  deer. 

We  passed  several  Mongol  temples  and  Lamaseries, 
white-washed  and  clean  looking.  On  the  top  of  a mound 
near  one  of  our  camping-grounds  I saw  a peculiar  small 
temple  or  tomb,  which  I examined  more  closely ; it  was 
a rough  heap  of  stones,  and  contained  a tablet  inside 
a niche.  I was  looking  at  this,  Avhen  I was  driven  off 
with  ignominy  by  some  ravens  which  had  their  nest  in  it. 
They  screeched  and  hovered  about  within  a few  inches 
of  my  eyes  in  such  an  unpleasant  way  that  I,  having  no 
stick,  beat  a hasty  retreat  to  camp. 

On  May  7 Ave  emerged  from  the  undulating  hilly  country, 
and,  after  crossing  a small  stream  called  the  Moli-ho, 
came  on  to  an  extensive  plain  bounded  on  the  north,  at  a 
distance  of  five  or  six  miles,  by  a barren,  rugged  range  of 
hills,  at  the  foot  of  which  could  be  seen  some  Mongol 


1887] 


A MONGOL  TRADITION 


79 


yurts,  and  a conspicuous  white  temple  ; while  to  the  south, 
at  a distance  of  about  twenty  miles,  were  the  Sheitung-ula 
Mountains  (called  by  the  Chinese,  the  Liang-lang-shan, 
or  Eurh-lang-shan),  which  lie  along  the  north  bank  of  the 
Yellow  river,  and  were  explored  in  1873  by  Prjevalsky, 
My  guide  had  a tradition  about  these  mountains  that,  five 
or  six  hundred  years  ago,  a Chinese  force  of  five  thousand 
men  was  besieged  on  a hill  by  a Mongol  force.  They  had 
been  enticed  into  these  deserts  by  the  Mongols,  who  knew 
where  all  the  water  was  to  be  found,  while  the  Chinese, 
being  unable  to  procure  any,  suffered  terribly  and  only 
a thousand  survived  ; ever  since  the  Chinese  emperor  has 
paid  money  to  the  Mongol  prince  to  keep  quiet. 

A caravan  from  Guchen  passed  us  on  the  8th.  There 
were  about  a hundred  and  fifty  camels,  mostly  unladen, 
but  several  carried  boxes  of  silver.  This  was  the  only 
caravan  we  met  coming  from  the  west ; it  had  left  Guchen 
sixty  days  previously. 

The  following  day  we  passed  close  by  a spur  from  the 
northern  range  of  hills,  which  appeared  to  be  of  volcanic 
origin.  The  range  presented  a most  fantastic  appearance, 
rising  in  sharp  rugged  peaks.  It  consists  of  a series  of 
sharp  parallel  ridges  with  intervening  strips  of  plain,  per- 
haps a quarter  of  a mile  wide.  In  Manchuria  we  had  also 
found  indications  of  old  volcanoes  in  the  Chang-pei-shan, 
or  Long  White  Mountain,  and  the  river  of  lava  between 
Kirin  and  Ninguta,  while  signs  of  volcanic  action  are 
to  be  seen  in  the  Tian-shan  Mountains,  as  was  first  noticed 
by  Humboldt,  and  afterwards  confirmed  by  Russian 
travellers. 

A small  stream — here  a few  inches  deep  only,  flowing 
over  a wide  pebbly  bed — runs  down  from  these  hills.  My 
guide  called  it  the  Ho-lai-liu,  and  it  is  probably  identical 
with  the  stream  which  Prjevalsky  crossed  on  the  southern 
side  of  the  Sheitung-ula. 

We  encamped  near  it  on  the  loth,  in  a spot  bounded 
on  the  south  by  a low,  round  range  of  hills,  or  rather 
undulations.  During  the  morning  I set  off  to  look  at  this, 
thinking  it  was  a couple  of  miles  or  so  distant,  but  the 


8o 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

distances  are  most  deceptive  here,  and  I found  myself 
at  the  top  in  ten  minutes  ; it  was  merely  an  undulation. 
A few  days  previously  I had  strolled  out  casually  to  a hill 
which  appeared  to  be  about  five  minutes’  walk  off,  but 
was  obliged  to  walk  fast  for  half  an  hour  before  I got 
there.  There  is  nothing  to  guide  the  eye — no  objects, 
as  men  or  trees,  to  judge  by  ; only  a bare  plain  and  a 
bare,  smooth  hillside  are  to  be  seen  in  front,  and  it  is 
hard  to  say  whether  a hill  is  half  a mile  or  two  miles 
distant.  On  this  occasion  I was  glad  to  find  it  was  only 
half  a mile,  as  I had  more  time  to  examine  the  country 
round.  We  were  between  two  parallel  ranges.  The 
intervening  country  is  undulating,  the  depressions  being 
generally  sandy,  while  the  slopes  are  of  alluvial  deposit, 
covered  with  a reddish  clay,  which  supports  a scanty  crop 
of  coarse  grass  and  scrubby  plants.  A few  flowers  of 
stunted  growth  appear  occasionally,  but  they  evidently 
have  a hard  struggle  for  existence  with  the  severe  climate 
of  these  deserts.  The  flower  that  flourishes  most  in  this 
region  is  the  iris,  which  does  not,  however,  attain  a 
greater  height  than  six  or  eight  inches,  though  occasion- 
ally it  is  seen  in  clumps  growing  to  a height  of  one  or 
one  and  a half  feet.  In  the  next  march  I climbed  a small 
rocky  hill,  on  which  I found  wild  peach  in  full  bloom, 
growing  luxuriantly  in  the  clefts,  and  also  yellow  roses. 
Later  on,  among  the  lower  ridges  of  the  Altai  Mountains, 
I found  white  roses. 

We  were  now  gradually  approaching  the  heart  of  the 
Gobi,  and  the  aspect  of  the  country  became  more  and 
more  barren  ; the  streams  disappeared,  and  water  could 
only  be  obtained  from  the  rough  wells  or  water-holes  dug 
by  former  caravans.  No  grass  could  be  seen,  and  in  its 
place  the  country  was  covered  with  dry  and  stunted 
plants,  burnt  brown  by  the  sun  by  day  and  nipped  by  the 
frost  by  night.  Not  a sound  would  be  heard,  and  scarcely 
a living  thing  seen,  as  we  plodded  along  slowly,  yet 
steadily,  over  those  seemingly  interminable  plains.  Some- 
times I would  strike  off  from  the  road,  and  ascend  some 
rising  ground  to  take  a look  round.  To  the  right  and 


MONOTONOUS  MARCHES 


8t 


1887] 

left  would  be  ranges  of  bare  hills,  very  much  resembling 
those  seen  in  the  Gulf  of  Suez,  with  rugged  summits  and 
long,  even  slopes  of  gravel  running  down  to  the  plain, 
which  extended  apparently  without  limit  in  front  of  me. 
And  there  beneath  was  my  small  caravan,  mere  specks  on 
that  vast  expanse  of  desolation,  and  moving  so  slowly 
that  it  seemed  impossible  that  it  could  ever  accomplish 
the  great  distance  which  had  to  be  passed  before  Hami 
could  be  reached. 

Our  usual  plan  was  to  start  at  about  three  in  the  after- 
noon, and  travel  on  till  midnight  or  sometimes  later. 
This  was  done  partly  to  avoid  the  heat  of  the  day,  which 
is  very  trying  to  the  loaded  camels,  but  chiefly  to  let  the 
camels  feed  by  daylight,  as  they  cannot  be  let  loose  to 
feed  at  night  for  fear  of  their  wandering  too  far  and  being 
lost.  Any  one  can  imagine  the  fearful  monotony  of  those 
long,  dreary  marches  seated  on  the  back  of  a slow  and 
silently  moving  camel.  While  it  was  light  I would  read 
and  even  write  ; but  soon  the  sun  would  set  before  us, 
the  stars  would  one  by  one  appear,  and  through  the  long, 
dark  hours  we  would  go  silently  on,  often  finding  our 
way  by  the  aid  of  the  stars  alone,  and  marking  each  as 
it  sank  below  the  horizon,  indicating  how  far  the  night 
was  advanced.  At  length  the  guide  would  give  the  signal 
to  halt,  and  the  camels,  with  an  unmistakable  sigh  of 
relief,  would  sink  to  the  ground ; their  loads  would  quickly 
be  taken  off ; before  long  camp  would  be  pitched,  and  we 
would  turn  in  to  enjoy  a well-earned  sleep,  with  the  satis- 
faction of  having  accomplished  one  more  march  on  that 
long  desert  journey. 

Camp  was  astir  again,  however,  early  in  the  morning, 
and  by  eight  I used  to  get  up,  and  after  breakfast  stroll 
about  to  see  what  was  to  be  seen,  then  write  up  my  diary, 
plot  out  the  map,  have  dinner  at  one  or  two,  and  then 
prepare  for  the  next  march.  And  so  the  days  wore  on 
with  monotonous  regularity  for  ten  whole  weeks. 

But  though  these  marches  were  very  monotonous,  yet 
the  nights  were  often  extremely  beautiful,  for  the  stars 
shone  out  with  a magnificence  I have  never  seen  equalled 


G 


82 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

even  in  the  heights  of  the  Himalayas.  Venus  was  a 
resplendent  object,  and  it  guided  us  over  many  a mile  of 
that  desert.  The  Milky  Way,  too,  was  so  bright  that  it 
looked  like  a bright  phosphorescent  cloud,  or  as  a light 
cloud  with  the  moon  behind  it.  This  clearness  of  the 
atmosphere  was  probably  due  to  its  being  so  remarkably 
dry.  Everything  became  parched  up,  and  so  charged 
Avith  electricity,  that  in  opening  out  a sheep-skin  coat  or 
a blanket  a loud  cracking  noise  would  be  given  out, 
accompanied  by  a sheet  of  fire.  A very  peculiar  and 
unlooked-for  result  of  this  remarkable  dryness  of  the 
atmosphere  was  the  destruction  of  a highly  cherished  coat 
of  mine  which  Sir  John  Walsham  had  given  me  just 
before  I left  Peking,  saying  that  it  would  last  me  for 
ever  ; and  so  it  would  have  anywhere  else  but  in  the  Gobi 
Desert.  It  was  made  of  a very  closely  woven  canvas 
material,  and  to  all  appearance  was  indestructible,  but  it 
is  a fact  that  before  a month  was  over,  that  coat  was  in 
shreds.  From  the  extreme  dryness  it  got  brittle,  and 
wherever  creases  were  formed,  it  broke  in  long  rents. 
The  outside  bend  of  the  elbow  of  the  sleeve  was  as  sound 
as  on  the  day  it  was  bought,  but  the  inside  of  the  bend 
Avas  cut  to  pieces,  and  split  wherever  it  had  been  creased 
by  the  elbow. 

The  temperature  used  to  vary  very  considerably.  Frosts 
continued  to  the  end  of  May,  but  the  days  were  often 
very  hot,  and  were  frequently  hottest  at  nine  or  ten  in  the 
morning,  for  later  on  a strong  wind  Avould  usually  spring 
up,  bloAving  sometimes  with  extreme  violence,  up  till  sun- 
set, Avhen  it  generally  subsided  again.  If  this  wind  was 
from  the  north,  the  weather  was  fine  but  cold.  If  it  was 
from  the  south,  it  would  be  warmer,  but  clouds  Avould 
collect  and  rain  would  sometimes  fall ; generally,  how- 
ever, the  rain  would  pass  off  into  steam  before  reaching 
the  ground.  Ahead  of  us  Ave  would  see  rain  falling 
heavily,  but  before  it  reached  the  ground  it  would 
gradually  disappear — vanish  away — and  Avhen  we  reached 
the  spot  over  which  the  rain  had  been  falling,  there  would 
not  be  a sign  of  moisture  on  the  ground. 


LIFE  IN  THE  DESERT 


83 


1887] 

The  daily  winds,  of  which  I have  just  spoken,  were 
often  extremely  disagreeable.  It  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  we  could  keep  our  tents  from  being  blown 
down,  and  everything  used  to  become  impregnated  with 
the  sand,  which  found  its  way  everywhere,  and  occasion- 
ally we  had  to  give  up  our  march  because  the  camels 
could  not  make  any  head  against  the  violence  of  the 
wind. 

After  crossing  the  connecting  ridge  between  Sheitung- 
ula  and  the  mountains,  we  passed  through  some  very 
dreary  country — a plain  between  parallel  ranges  of  hills. 
The  soil  was  either  sandy  or  covered  with  small  pebbles, 
and  was  dotted  over  with  clumps  of  furze,  which  flowered 
almost  exclusively  on  the  southern  side,  the  cold  blast  of 
the  north  wind  nipping  the  flowers  in  the  bud  on  the 
northern  side. 

There  were  sandhills  everywhere,  and  the  air  was  hazy 
with  the  particles  of  sand.  Every  evening  about  flve  we 
saw  herds  and  flocks  slowly  wending  their  way  over  the 
plain  and  converging  on  the  water  near  the  camp,  but 
only  the  sheep  seemed  to  be  attended  by  any  one,  and 
there  was  scarcely  ever  a yurt  in  sight. 

The  ponies  go  about  in  a semi-wild  state,  in  troops  of 
about  twenty  mares,  under  the  guardianship  of  one  or 
more  stallions,  who  drive  them  about  from  place  to  place 
seeking  something  to  graze  on.  They  are  entirely  free, 
and  every  evening  at  sunset  they  march  slowly  back  to 
the  Mongol  yurt.  The  Mongols  have  great  difficulty  in 
getting  hold  of  one  when  they  want  it.  They  chevy  the 
selected  pony,  riding  after  him  with  a long  pole  having  a 
noose  at  the  end,  which  they  at  last  succeed  in  throwing 
over  his  head. 

On  the  13th  we  passed  through  some  low  hills,  and 
then  descended  a valley  in  which  were  some  gnarled  and 
stunted  elm  trees— the  first  trees  I had  seen  in  Mongolia. 
They  were  about  thirty  feet  high,  and  evidently  very  old. 
We  then  passed  over  a sandy,  barren  waste,  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Galpin  Gobi,  the  very  worst  part  of  the  whole 
desert.  We  met  a small  caravan  of  Mongols,  and  passed 


84  ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

the  encampment  of  a large  caravan  going  from  Bantu  to 
Guchen. 

We  continued  over  the  plain,  which  was  covered  with 
scrub,  but  there  were  a few  tufts  of  coarse  grass.  A good 
many  herds  of  camels  were  seen,  and  some  ponies  and 
sheep.  Quantities  of  partridges  rose  from  the  scrub — 
many  so  tame  that  I used  to  chevy  them  running  along 
the  ground.  They  were  generally  in  couples. 

At  eight  o’clock  on  the  evening  of  the  17th  a terrific 
wind  blew  up  and  dark  clouds  gathered,  so  that  after 
trying  to  push  on  a bit  we  were  obliged  to  halt,  as  it 
threatened  to  rain  very  heavily.  Putting  up  a tent  in  a 
sandstorm  is  one  of  the  most  irritating  things  I know  of. 
No  sooner  do  you  hammer  a peg  in  than  it  is  pulled  up 
again  by  the  force  of  the  wind  ; the  sand  gets  driven  into 
your  eyes  as  you  kneel  to  drive  in  the  pegs  ; and  to  add 
to  it  all,  it  was  pitch-dark,  and  heavy  spurts  of  rain  would 
come  driving  down  at  intervals. 

A fearful  wind  blew  the  whole  of  the  next  day,  with 
sand  and  occasional  bursts  of  rain.  Two  Mongols  en- 
camped with  us.  They  slept  in  a makeshift  tent  of  felts 
supported  by  sticks,  leaving  just  room  enough  for  the 
men  to  lie  down  with  a fire  between  them. 

The  guide  wanted  to  halt  on  account  of  the  wind,  but 
I objected,  and  we  started  at  6.30  p.m.,  travelling  on 
towards  the  range  of  hills  in  a westerly  direction.  The 
wind  subsided  at  sunset,  and  it  was  a fine  night ; but  the 
sand  had  been  blown  over  the  track,  so  that  we  lost  our 
way  and  were  compelled  to  halt  at  11.30  p.m.  in  the 
middle  of  the  plain,  without  sign  of  water. 

Luckily  we  had  brought  a little  water  in  our  water- 
casks,  and  so  had  enough  for  breakfast ; but  we  had  to 
start  afterwards,  as  we  could  not  remain  without  water. 

We  started  at  ii  a.m.,  and  soon  found  the  track,  as  we 
had  the  range  to  guide  us,  and  at  five  miles  reached  a 
well ; but  after  watering  the  camels  we  pushed  on  for  the 
next  well,  gradually  ascending  the  range,  which  I now 
found  to  be  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  Hurku  Hills,  the 
highest  part  of  which  was  700  feet  above  the  plain,  the 


MIRAGE 


85 


1887] 

track  crossing  it  at  630  feet.  We  could  realise  how 
deceptive  the  distances  are  here.  Some  days  previously 
we  had  first  seen  this  range,  and  I thought  that  we  should 
reach  it  at  the  end  of  that  march,  but  we  took  four  days 
to  do  so.  We  passed  over  a plateau  at  the  top  of  the 
range  for  three  and  a half  miles,  and  then  descended  very 
gradually  to  the  plain  again,  camping  at  7.10  p.m.  near 
a well. 

The  hills  were  very  barren,  but  had  a few  low  bushes 
scattered  over  their  surface,  which  serve  as  food  for  the 
camels  which  roam  among  them.  They  present  a jagged 
outline,  the  prominences  being  of  bare  igneous  rock,  but 
the  depressions  are  filled  with  gravel  of  a grey  colour. 

The  following  was  a really  delightful  morning,  and  I 
thought  the  desert  not  so  dreary  after  all  ; for  no  artist 
could  wish  for  a finer  display  of  colouring  than  the  scene 
presented  that  morning.  Overhead  was  a spotless,  clear 
blue  sky,  and  beneath  it  the  plain  had  lost  its  dull  monot- 
onous aspect,  fading  away  in  various  shades  of  blue,  each 
getting  deeper  and  deeper,  till  the  hills  were  reached  ; 
and  these  again,  in  their  rugged  outline,  presented  many 
a pleasing  variety  of  colour,  all  softened  down  with  a 
hazy  bluish  tinge  ; while  the  deceitful  mirage  made  up 
for  the  absence  of  water  in  the  scene,  and  the  hills  were 
reflected  again  in  what  appeared  to  be  lovely  lakes  of 
clear,  still  water. 

For  two  marches  we  kept  gradually  ascending  towards 
a watershed,  connecting  the  Hurku  with  a similar  but 
somewhat  lower  range  running  parallel  to  the  road,  eight 
or  ten  miles  to  the  south.  Crossing  this  connecting  ridge, 
we  arrived  at  the  Bortson  well  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning  of  the  22nd. 

There  were  a few  Mongol  yurts  here  on  the  banks  of 
some  small  trickles  of  water,  running  down  from  the 
Hurku  Hills  to  the  north.  Here  I crossed  Prjevalsky’s 
track.  In  his  first,  and  also  in  his  third  journey,  he  had 
crossed  the  Galpin  Gobi  from  the  south,  and  passed 
through  this  place  on  his  way  northward  to  Urga.  The 
description  he  gives  of  the  Galpin  Gobi  is  not  cheerful. 


86 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

He  says,  “This  desert  is  so  terrible  that  in  comparison 
with  it  the  deserts  of  Northern  Tibet  may  be  called  fruit- 
ful. There,  at  all  events,  you  may  find  water  and  good 
pasturage  in  the  valleys : here  there  is  neither,  not  even 
a single  oasis — everywhere  the  silence  of  the  Valley  of 
Death.  The  Hurku  Hills  are  the  northern  definition  of 
the  wildest  and  most  sterile  part  of  the  Gobi.” 

The  Galpin  Gobi,  where  I crossed  it  to  the  Hurku 
Hills,  could  be  seen  extending  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach  to  the  N.E.  Where  Prjevalsky  crossed  it  its  width 
was  eighteen  miles  only,  and  it  was  3,570  feet  above  the 
sea.  The  Mongols  there  told  him  that  it  extended  to 
the  east  and  to  the  west  for  twenty  days’  march.  It  forms 
a marked  depression  in  the  great  Mongolian  plateau,  and 
is  a distinct  dividing-line  between  the  Altai  and  the  In- 
shan  mountain  systems,  for  I will  show  presently  that 
the  Hurku  Hills  may  be  regarded  as  the  prolongation 
of  the  former  mountains. 

On  the  22nd  we  continued  along  the  southern  base  of 
the  Hurku  Hills,  passing  over  an  almost  level  plain  of  an 
extremely  desolate  appearance.  It  was  composed  of  a 
grey  gravel,  and  was  covered  with  small  tufts  of  plants 
perfectly  scorched  up.  What  little  there  had  been  of 
spring  green  was  already  disappearing,  and  the  young 
grass  and  plants  which  had  had  the  courage  to  show 
themselves  were  withering,  and  all  was  brown  and  bare. 

On  the  22nd  we  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  one  of  our 
camels  ; he  shied  at  something,  broke  loose,  threw  his 
load  (luckily),  and  disappeared  into  the  darkness.  He 
was  never  heard  of  again,  although  we  hunted  most  of 
the  night  and  all  the  next  day  till  the  evening. 

After  this  we  crossed  some  low  hills  running  down  from 
the  Hurku  range,  and  arrived  on  the  banks  of  a delight- 
ful small  stream,  about  a foot  wide  and  a few  inches  deep, 
with  some  patches  of  green  grass  on  its  margin.  Here 
we  halted  for  three  days  to  buy  a couple  of  new  camels. 
There  were  several  Mongol  yurts  about  here,  and  we  had 
visits  from  some  of  the  men.  They  are  very  fine-looking, 
tall,  strong,  muscular  fellows,  more  like  what  one  would 


A PASSING  CARAVAN 


87 


1S87] 

expect  of  the  descendants  of  Chenghiz  Khan  than  any 
other  Mongols.  They  were,  however,  very  childish, 
amused  at  everything,  and  very  rough  in  their  manners. 

The  caravan  from  Bautu  which  was  passed  on  the  road 
on  the  13th,  caught  us  up  here  and  pitched  camp  close 
by.  There  were  a hundred  and  forty  camels,  carrying 
made-up  clothes  and  leathern  boots  to  Guchen.  Their 
camp  looked  very  neat.  The  packs  were  arranged  in 
long  parallel  lines,  and  were  very  neatly  done  up,  and 
everything  looked  brand  new.  When  it  threatened  rain, 
each  pack  was  covered  with  a white  felt,  which  was  tied 
round  it.  The  coolies  had  one  big  tent,  and  the  agent 
a smaller  one.  The  former  were  smart  fellows,  and  did 
their  work  wonderfully  quickly  and  well.  They  were 
Chinamen  from  Kwei-hwa-cheng.  The  agent  in  charge 
came  over  to  visit  me,  and  we  had  a long  talk,  for  I had 
begun  to  pick  up  a certain  amount  of  Chinese  from  my 
nightly  conversations  with  Liu-san.  This  agent  had  been 
to  Tientsin,  and  had  bought  there  a few  Remington  and 
Martini-Henry  rifles,  and  also  a Gatling  gun  for  the 
general  at  Urumchi.  He  said  that  from  Hi  (Kuldja)  the 
usual  road  to  Peking  was  by  Kobdo,  Uliassutai,  and 
Kiakhta.  It  is  one  hundred  and  ten  stages  by  the  road — 
a distance  which  he  says  he  rode  in  twenty-eight  days 
upon  one  occasion,  when  taking  an  important  despatch,  at 
the  time  of  the  retrocession  of  Kuldja  to  China  by  Russia. 

Two  new  camels  having  been  purchased,  we  set  out 
again  on  the  28th,  in  spite  of  the  violent  wind  that  was 
blowing ; but  we  did  not  get  far,  and  had  to  halt  again 
the  whole  of  the  next  day  on  account  of  the  wind. 
Although  it  was  now  the  end  of  May,  the  cold  at  night 
was  still  considerable,  and  I have  noted  that  in  bed  I wore 
two  flannel  shirts  and  a cardigan  jacket,  lying  under  two 
thick  blankets.  It  was  the  wind  that  made  it  cold,  blow- 
ing from  the  W.N.W.  and  N.W. 

On  May  31  we  passed  over  an  undulating  country 
covered  with  coarse  grass.  Several  flocks  and  herds  were 
seen,  and  to  the  south  there  appeared  to  be  good  grass- 
land in  the  depression  between  the  Hurku  Hills  and  a 


88 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

parallel  range,  ten  or  twelve  miles  to  the  south.  Accord- 
ing to  a Mongol  who  visited  us,  there  is  some  land  culti- 
vated by  Mongols  four  miles  to  the  south  at  Huru-su-tai. 
At  seven  and  a half  miles  we  passed  a small  stream  of 
good  water. 

In  the  next  few  days  we  passed  along  a plain  lying 
between  the  Hurku  Hills  and  the  southern  parallel  range, 
for  which  I could  get  no  name.  We  saw  a peak  of  the 
Hurku  Hills,  which  my  Mongol  called  Baroso-khai,  and 
in  some  clefts,  near  the  summit,  we  could  see  patches  of 
snow. 

We  passed  several  Mongol  encampments,  and  one  day 
a Mongol  official  came  to  visit  me.  He  was  an  old  man, 
and  not  interesting,  showing  no  signs  of  ordinary  intelli- 
gence. He  had  bad  eyes,  and  I gave  him  some  of 
Calvert’s  carbolic  ointment  to  rub  on  the  eyelids,  for 
which  he  did  not  appear  at  all  thankful.  He  fished  about 
in  the  leg  of  his  long  boot,  and  produced  from  it  a 
miscellaneous  collection  of  articles — a pipe,  a small  piece 
of  string,  some  camel’s  wool,  a piece  of  paper,  and 
various  odds  and  ends,  and  eventually  my  ointment  was 
done  up  in  a suitable  packet  to  his  satisfaction,  and 
stowed  away  again  in  the  leg  of  his  boot. 

The  Mongols  carry  about  half  their  personal  effects  in 
their  boots,  and  my  man,  Ma-te-la,  one  day  produced 
from  his  boots  every  little  scrap  that  I had  thrown  away 
during  the  march,  such  as  bits  of  paper,  ends  of  string, 
a worn-out  sock,  and  numerous  other  trifles.  Everything 
is  so  precious  to  these  Mongols  in  the  desert  that  they 
never  waste  anything,  and  I soon  learnt  the  value  they 
put  on  every  little  article. 

Liu-san  one  day  took  me  to  task  severely  for  giving 
away  an  old  lime-juice  bottle  to  an  ordinary  Mongol.  He 
said  such  valuable  gifts  ought  to  be  reserved  for  the  big 
men.  So  the  next  “swell”  I came  across  was  presented 
with  a lime-juice  bottle  with  great  state,  and  he  was  given 
to  understand  that  he  was  not  likely  to  get  such  gifts  as 
that  every  day  in  the  week,  and  that  he  was  lucky  to  have 
come  across  such  a generous  gentleman  as  myself. 


1887] 


A STORM  IN  THE  DESERT 


89 


As  we  passed  Mongol  encampments,  men  used  to  come 
galloping  over  the  plain  to  know  if  we  had  anything  for 
sale,  and  to  beg  some  tobacco  of  us.  The  Chinese  guide 
would  never  give  them  any,  although  he  had  plenty ; but 
poor  Ma-te-la  always  used  to  give  them  a pinch  or  two, 
or,  at  any  rate,  a piece  of  brown  paper — which  he  would 
produce  from  his  boot,  and  which  was  probably  a relic  of 
something  I had  thrown  away.  Liu-san  never  smoked 
or  drank — he  said  he  was  a teetotaler,  and  was  afraid 
even  of  my  lime-juice. 

The  ponies  about  here  are  very  good,  stout,  sturdy 
little  animals,  up  to  any  amount  of  work,  but  more  fit  for 
riding  purposes  than  the  miniature  cart-horses  which  we 
had  seen  in  the  extreme  eastern  end  of  Mongolia,  on  the 
steppes  near  Tsi-tsi-har  in  Manchuria.  Those  were 
wonderful  little  animals,  and  were  always  used  by  the 
Chinese  carters  to  put  in  the  shafts,  although  they  were 
never  more  than  thirteen  hands  high — while  the  cart  used 
to  carry  a load  of  sometimes  two  tons,  being  dragged 
along  by  six  or  seven  animals  (ponies  and  mules)  in  front, 
but  with  only  this  one  sturdy  little  animal  in  the  shafts. 

On  June  3,  just  as  we  were  preparing  to  start,  we  saw 
a great  dark  cloud  away  in  the  distance  over  the  plain. 
It  was  a dust-storm  coming  towards  us.  Where  we  were 
it  was  quite  still,  and  the  sky  was  bright  overhead,  and 
perfectly  clear,  but  away  to  the  west  we  saw  the  dark 
clouds — as  black  as  night.  Gradually  they  overspread 
the  whole  sky,  and  as  the  storm  came  nearer  we  heard 
a rumbling  sound,  and  then  it  burst  upon  us  with  terrific 
force,  so  that  we  were  obliged  to  lie  at  full  length  on  the 
ground  behind  our  baggage.  There  was  fortunately  no 
sand  about — we  were  on  a gravel  plain — but  the  small 
pebbles  were  being  driven  before  the  wind  with  great 
velocity,  and  hurt  us  considerably.  The  storm  lasted  for 
half  an  hour,  and  it  was  then  as  calm  and  bright  as  be- 
fore, and  much  cooler. 

We  still  marched  over  this  steppe  country.  There  are 
ranges  of  hills  on  either  hand,  about  fifteen  miles  distant 
on  the  north  and  ten  miles  on  the  south,  and  the  plain 


go 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 


occupies  the  space  between  them,  which  is  not  quite  flat, 
however,  but  slopes  gradually  up  to  the  hills  on  either 
hand.  The  distances,  as  usual,  are  most  deceptive  ; the 
ranges  look  quite  close,  as  if  you  could  get  up  to  them 
easily  in  an  hour,  and  the  mountains  ahead  appear  com- 
paratively close,  but  you  travel  on  and  on  and  don’t  seem 
to  get  any  nearer  to  the  distant  hills,  while  the  peaks  on 
your  right  and  left  are  only  very  slowly  left  behind. 

On  the  4th  we  reached  a Mongol  encampment,  called 
Tu-pu-chi.  This  is  the  most  thickly  populated  part  I 
had  seen  in  the  Gobi,  as  there  were  several  other  yurts 
scattered  over  the  plain.  The  guide  had  left  a large  supply 
of  flour  and  rice  here  on  a previous  trip,  and  now  re- 
plenished the  stock  he  had  with  him.  The  Mongols  looked 
very  poor,  thin,  and  badly  fed,  and  were  miserably 
dressed.  Their  flocks  of  sheep,  though,  were  in  first- 
class  condition,  and  were  collected  round  the  different 
yurts.  We  continued  on  about  another  six  miles,  and 
then  halted  by  some  more  yurts,  when  a new  Mongol 
joined  our  party  to  look  after  the  camels. 

On  the  following  day  we  crossed  a ridge  connecting  the 
Hurku  Hills  with  the  southern  range,  and  descended  a 
wide  valley  or  plain  between  those  two  ranges  on  the 
western  side  of  the  connecting  ridge.  Between  us  and  the 
southern  range  was  a most  remarkable  range  of  sandhills, 
called  by  my  guide  Hun-kua-ling.  It  is  about  forty  miles 
in  length,  and  is  composed  of  bare  sand,  without  a vestige 
of  vegetation  of  any  sort  on  it,  and  I computed  it  in  places 
to  be  as  much  as  nine  hundred  feet  in  height,  rising 
abruptly  out  of  a gravel  plain.  With  the  dark  outline  of 
the  southern  hills  as  a background,  this  white  fantastically 
shaped  sand-range  presents  a very  striking  appearance. 
It  must  have  been  formed  by  the  action  of  the  wind,  for 
to  the  westward  is  an  immense  sandy  tract,  and  it  is 
evident  that  the  wind  has  driven  the  sand  from  this  up 
into  the  hollow  between  the  Hurku  Hills  and  the  range  to 
the  south,  thus  forming  these  remarkable  sandhills. 
Tradition  corroborates  this  supposition,  for  the  Mongols 
say  that  a large  force  had  been  collected,  and  was  pre- 


1887]  THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION  91 

paring  to  march  to  China,  when  a mighty  wind  rose, 
blowing  the  sand  of  the  desert  against  them  and  burying 
them  all  together,  with  several  villages  and  temples.  At 
the  present  time  a stream  runs  along  the  northern  foot  of 
the  range  ; this  stream  has  some  patches  of  meadow  land 
on  its  banks,  on  which  are  pitched  several  groups  of 
Mongol  yurts. 

The  country  we  passed  through  was  undulating,  sloping 
downwards  towards  the  range.  In  parts  the  soil  was  firm 
gravel,  and  in  parts  very  loose  sand — much  more  loose 
than  ordinary  sand.  It  seems  to  me  that  this  is  sand 
formed  by  wind,  and  not  by  water ; it  is  finer  and  more 
gritty.  The  actual  surface  is  very  thinly  coated  with  grey 
gravel,  but  this  is  so  thin  that  each  footstep  leaves  a mark 
in  white  from  the  underlying  sand. 

After  passing  the  end  of  the  sand-range,  we  entered  a 
country  different  from  any  we  had  yet  gone  through.  In 
origin  it  was  probably  a plain  of  sand,  but  the  wind’s 
action  has  broken  it  up  into  sandhills  and  depressions, 
making  up  a scene  which,  for  its  extreme  wildness  and 
desolation,  surpasses  anything  I have  ever  seen.  The 
elements  of  the  air  seem  to  have  fought  with  and  rent  the 
very  surface  of  the  land,  and  the  scene  is  one  of  indescrib- 
able confusion.  To  add  to  the  weirdness  of  the  spectacle, 
the  country  was  covered  with  tamarisk  bushes,  the  roots 
of  which  had  been  laid  bare  by  the  wind  blowing  the  sand 
away.  There  they  stood,  with  their  gnarled  and  contorted 
roots  exposed  to  view.  The  sandhills  were  sometimes  very 
quaint  and  curious  in  shape,  but  they  usually  ran  in  long 
ridges,  cutting  into  one  another  from  every  direction. 
They  rise  in  the  most  sudden  manner  out  of  a level  piece 
of  ground,  sometimes  to  a height  of  a hundred  feet  or 
even  more. 

This  is  a general  section  of  them.  At  A the  sand  drops 
suddenly  at  a slope  of  A is  a little  below  the  highest 


92 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

point  of  the  hillock,  and  the  edge  it  represents  runs  in  an 
absolutely  straight  line  through  the  length  of  the  sandhill. 
The  line  of  intersection  with  the  ground  (if  the  ground  is 
level)  is  also  absolutely  straight,  so  that,  looking  towards 
the  steep  side,  the  sandhill  presents  the  appearance  of  a 
well-constructed  fortification.  Every  bush  and  piece  of 
scrub  on  the  plain  has  hillocks  of  sand  on  the  leeward 
side.  This  is  conspicuous,  as  the  sand  is  white  and  the 
surroundings  dark  gravel.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  sand- 
hills are  formed  thus  : A strong  wind  blows  from  the 
west,  say,  forming  hillocks  to  the  east  of  the  bushes.  At 
places  where  the  bushes  are  close  together,  one  hillock 
runs  into  another,  several  thus  forming  one  big  hillock. 
In  the  case  of  big  ranges,  I think  it  must  have  been  started 
by  a number  of  trees*  growing  on  the  stretch  of  fertile 
ground,  or  perhaps  by  a village,  or  a number  of  temples, 
as  tradition  says.  The  sand-range  does  not  rest  against 
any  solid  range,  but  occupies  a position  by  itself  between 
two  ranges  from  fifteen  to  twenty  miles  apart,  thus — 


Northern  Range  Sand  Range  Southern  Range 


The  plain  between  these  two  ranges  is  of  gravel,  under- 
neath which  is  sand.  Near  Pidjan  I saw  a similar  though 
lower  range,  and  Prjevalsky  mentions  seeing  one  near 
Sachow. 

The  Hurku  Hills  come  to  an  end  here,  and  we  could  see 
before  us  across  the  plain,  at  a distance  of  eighty  miles, 
the  outlying  spurs  of  the  Altai  Mountains  ; but  though 
the  former  terminated  here  as  a continuous  range,  yet  they 
are  connected  to  a certain  extent,  by  a series  of  isolated 
hills  to  the  north,  with  the  Altai  Mountains.  This  con- 
nection may,  perhaps,  be  best  illustrated  by  supposing  the 
country  to  be  flooded  to  a height  of  about  four  thousand 

* There  are  trees  now  growing  in  the  neighbourhood  to  a height  of 
twelve  or  fifteen  feet,  and  these  are  sometimes  in  clumps  of  forty  or  fifty. 


THE  HURKU  HILLS 


93 


1887] 

feet  above  ordinary  sea-level.  Then  on  the  west  would  be 
seen  the  great  headlands  of  the  Altai  Mountains ; on  the 
east  two  capes  (the  Hurku  Hills  and  the  southern  range) 
running  out  into  the  ocean.  To  the  north  would  be  a 
series  of  islands,  stepping-stones  as  it  were,  forming  the 
connection  between  the  Hurku  Hills  and  the  Altai  Moun- 
tains. To  the  south  would  be  the  open  sea. 

The  Hurku  range  has  an  extreme  length  of  about  two 
hundred  and  twenty  miles.  It  is  highest  in  the  western 
end,  where  it  presents  rather  the  appearance  of  a string  of 
elongated  ridges  than  of  a continuous  range,  as  it  does 
further  east.  Its  highest  point  is  the  prominent  mountain, 
for  which  I obtained  the  name  Barosakhai,  but  which 
I have  not  the  slightest  doubt  is  identical  with  the  moun- 
tain called  by  the  Russian  traveller  Pevstof,  Gourbaun- 
Seikyn.*  The  height  of  this  mountain  is  probably  about 
eight  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  it  had  slight  snow 
on  it  in  the  middle  of  June. 

The  ridges  to  the  west  of  this  have  a height  of  about 
seven  thousand  feet  ; while  to  the  east,  where  Prjevalsky 
crossed  the  range,  it  was  6120  feet  above  sea-level,  and 
from  that  point  it  still  diminishes  in  height  to  the  eastward 
— at  its  termination  having  an  approximate  height  of  five 
thousand  feet.  Its  width,  where  Prjevalsky  crossed,  is 
seven  miles.  Throughout  it  presents  a bare,  sterile  ap- 
pearance, though  a few  plants  mentioned  by  Prjevalsky, 
including  the  peach,  may  be  found  in  places. 

The  range  which  runs  parallel  to  the  Hurku  Hills, 
almost  throughout  their  entire  length,  is  very  similar  in 
general  character,  but  is  usually  at  a lower  elevation — the 
difference  in  height  varying  from  four  or  five  hundred  to 
a thousand  feet.  At  the  western  extremity,  however,  the 
southern  is  the  more  elevated  of  the  two  by  about  eight 
hundred  or  a thousand  feet. 

On  June  8,  towards  dark,  after  passing  through  the 
sandhills,  we  approached  a low  range  of  hills.  The 

* I found  it  very  hard  to  get  at  the  proper  pronunciation  from  the 
Mongols.  The  ns  are  scarcely  heard,  and  it  is  possible  I may  not  have 
caught  them. 


94 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

guide  halted  here  and  told  me  to  take  out  my  revolver, 
as,  he  said,  the  hills  were  a favourite  resort  of  robbers. 
So  I dismounted  and  went  on  ahead  of  the  caravan, 
revolver  in  hand  ; the  boy  and  the  guide  (the  latter 
armed  with  a tent-pole)  each  took  a flank.  We  took  the 
bell  off  the  camel,  and  approached  the  hills  in  dead 
silence.  It  was  most  sensational,  as  it  was  now  quite 
dark,  and  we  could  see  nothing  but  the  black  outline  of 
the  hills  against  the  sky,  while  the  absence  of  the  “tingle- 
tingle”  of  the  bell  made  the  death-like  silence  of  the 
desert  still  more  impressive. 

When  we  got  close  up  to  the  range,  the  guide  said  we 
had  better  wait  till  daylight,  as  the  robbers  had  a nasty 
habit  of  rolling  big  stones  down  upon  caravans  going 
through  the  pass.  So  we  put  on  our  sheepskins,  and 
lay  down  on  the  ground  till  day  broke,  taking  it  in  turns 
to  watch. 

The  Mongol  said  he  had  seen  a horseman  riding  to  the 
hill  while  it  was  dusk,  and  my  boy  occasionally  conjured 
up  images  of  others  riding  about,  and  let  off  his  revolver 
twice  ; but  nothing  happened,  and  we  resumed  our  march 
3*30>  still  on  the  defensive,  with  our  revolvers  in  our 
hands,  as  the  hills  we  now  entered  had  plenty  of  suitable 
hiding-places  for  brigands.  Nothing  could  be  wilder  or 
more  desolate  than  these  hills — utterly  devoid  of  vegeta- 
tion, and  covered  with  a dark  gravel. 

On  the  summit  of  each  little  knoll  was  a heap  of  stones, 
which,  in  the  dark,  we  should  inevitably  have  mistaken 
for  men,  and  probably  have  wasted  a lot  of  ammunition 
on,  as  the  guide  was  careful  to  tell  me  that  if  I did  not 
shoot  any  man  I saw  sharp,  he  (the  brigand,  not  the 
guide)  would  shoot  me.  We  halted  at  6.30,  near  a small 
water-hole  in  the  valley. 

We  started  again  soon  after  four  in  the  afternoon,  and 
an  hour  later  reached  the  dry  bed  of  a river  flowing 
south,  one  hundred  feet  below  the  camp,  and  the  lowest 
point  I had  yet  reached  in  the  Gobi  (probably  two 
thousand  eight  hundred  feet).  Here  there  was  one  very 
large  cairn  of  stones  and  a lot  of  smaller  ones,  marking 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  GOBI 


95 


1887] 

the  place  where  a large  caravan  carrying  silver  was 
attacked  five  years  ago,  nine  men  being  killed,  the  silver 
carried  off,  and  the  remainder  of  the  men  left  to  continue 
their  way  as  best  they  could  on  foot  across  this  awful 
desert. 

For  three  miles  further  we  passed  through  low  hills. 
At  every  hundred  yards  or  so  was  a small  pile  of  stones, 
to  which  our  two  Mongols  used  regularly  to  add  one  or 
two.  At  the  point  where  the  hills  ended  were  two  large 
cairns,  one  on  each  side  of  the  road.  To  these  the 
Mongols  added  more  stones,  carefully  building  them  up, 
and  giving  a sigh  of  relief  as  we  left  the  hills  and  entered 
an  open  plain  again. 

At  dusk  we  approached  a hollow,  in  which  was  some 
water.  The  guide  fearing  that  brigands  might  be  en- 
camped near  this,  we  repeated  the  stage-conspirator 
performance,  advancing  noiselessly  with  revolvers  in 
hand.  Nobody  appeared,  however,  and  when  we  got 
on  the  open  plain  again,  we  resumed  our  former  peaceful 
demeanour.  It  was  a very  disagreeable  march,  dark, 
sultry,  and  oppressive,  and  we  got  along  very  slowly,  as 
Mongols  and  camels  were  both  very  tired. 

We  camped  at  midnight,  with  no  water  within  twelve 
miles.  I opened  the  second  bottle  of  sherry  which  I had 
brought  from  Peking,  and  which  I had  reserved  for  the 
worst  part  of  the  Gobi.  I felt  as  if  I were  a regular 
tippler  in  the  delight  with  which  I heard  the  pop  of  the 
cork,  and  saw  the  wine  gurgling  out  into  the  tumbler. 
It  was  not  improved  by  the  jolting  of  the  journey  and 
the  heat,  but  was  uncommonly  good  for  all  that. 

The  following  day  we  continued  over  the  plain,  on 
which  we  passed  two  or  three  herds  of  wild  asses,  and 
on  the  iith  we  reached  a large  Mongol  encampment 
named  Man-chin-tol,  in  a plain  at  the  foot  of  the  first 
spurs  of  the  Altai  Mountains,  on  the  higher  points  of 
which  we  could  see  slight  traces  of  snow.  Water  was 
plentiful,  being  found  in  small  pools  all  over  the  plain. 
It  had,  however,  a brackish  taste,  and  there  was  soda 
efflorescence  on  the  margin  of  the  pools. 


96 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

During  the  morning  a small  caravan  of  twenty  camels 
from  Su-chow  pitched  camp  near  us.  It  belonged  to  a 
Chinese  merchant  trading  amongst  the  Mongols.  We 
bought  some  black  beans  for  the  camels,  and  shiau-mi 
(small  millet)  for  porridge  for  myself. 

I had  a general  hit-out  all  round  to-day.  On  asking 
the  guide  how  many  days  it  was  to  Hami,  he  said 
twenty,  but  only  thirteen  remained  to  make  up  the  sixty, 
which  was  the  contract  time.  I told  my  boy  to  explain 
this  to  him,  and  tell  him  that  he  would  not  get  eighteen 
taels  for  the  half  camel  extra.  He  muttered  something 
about  having  lost  a camel  and  being  delayed  in  buying 
new  ones,  and  about  the  rain  and  the  wind.  But  I 
explained  to  him  that  I was  paying  a high  price,  and  had 
taken  light  loads  to  go  quickly,  and  that  fifty  days  was 
the  time  in  which  I ought  to  get  to  Hami,  but  that  sixty 
days  was  put  in  the  contract  to  cover  all  risks  of  rain, 
etc.  ; and  finally  I told  him  that  I had  a passport  from  the 
Tsung-li-yamen,  and  that  all  the  mandarins  had  been 
written  to,  to  give  me  help,  so  that  when  I arrived  at 
Hami,  and  told  the  Yamen  how  he  had  delayed  me  on 
the  road,  there  would  be  a row.  But  I was  afraid  all  this 
talking  would  not  get  me  to  Hami  any  the  quicker 
because  the  camels  were  not  capable  of  doing  it.  They 
were  miserable  creatures,  old  and  broken  down. 

I had  a fling  at  Liu-san  too  ; he  had  begun  explaining 
to  me  how  bad  the  camel-men  at  Kwei-hwa-cheng  were, 
and  how  Mr.  Clarke’s  man  had  squeezed  a part  of  the 
money  I paid  for  the  camels.  Now,  I happened  to  know 
that  he  had  also  squeezed  ten  taels  of  that,  but  I had 
purposely  avoided  telling  him  that  I knew,  in  order  not 
to  complicate  matters.  Now  I did  tell  him,  looking  him 
full  in  the  face  to  see  the  effect.  But  a Chinaman  is 
inscrutable.  There  was  no  sign  of  guilt.  His  face 
changed  instantly  from  the  highly  moral  expression 
which  it  had  worn,  to  one  of  indignant  defiance,  and, 
turning  to  the  guide,  he  said  (in  Chinese)  “ Yang-laya” 
(myself)  “says  that  I squeeze  money — I,  a Tientsin  man 
— in  a place  like  Kwei-hwa-cheng  ! ” and  a lot  more  in 


WILD  CAMELS  AND  MULES 


97 


1887] 

the  same  strain.  It  was  all  I could  do  to  keep  from 
laughing  at  the  way  they  both  kept  their  countenances, 
because  the  arrangement  had  been  between  the  two  ; but 
the  guide’s  face  did  not  move  a muscle,  except  to  express 
supreme  astonishment  at  my  audacity  in  even  supposing 
such  an  honest  boy  as  mine  was  capable  of  squeezing  me. 

I said  no  more  to  my  boy.  His  manner,  however,  very 
much  changed  for  the  better,  and  he  evidently  tried  to 
get  into  my  good  books  again.  In  the  afternoon  he 
told  me  a long  yarn  about  how  good  and  honest  his 
father  was,  and  how  honest  he  knew  himself  to  be — all 
of  which  I was  very  glad  to  hear,  but  did  not  offer  any 
remarks  on  the  subjects.  These  rows  will  happen  in  the 
best  regulated  families,  but  they  are  a nuisance. 

I suggested  to  the  guide  that  we  should  halt  for  a day 
when  we  came  to  a good  grazing  ground,  to  let  the  camels 
pick  up,  and  then  make  a renewed  effort ; but  he  said 
that  if  they  were  to  halt  for  one  day,  they  would  not  go  on 
at  all  the  next — the  only  thing  was  to  keep  them  at  it. 
Rather  like  the  cab-horse  in  Pickwick,  which  had  to  be 
kept  in  harness  for  fear  of  falling  down  ! 

To  the  north,  at  a distance  of  twenty-five  miles,  lay  the 
Altai  Mountains,  rising  to  about  nine  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea.  There  was  slight  snow  on  the  summit.  They 
are  entirely  bare,  and  the  southern  slopes  are  steep,  but 
not  precipitous.  In  the  centre  of  the  range  is  said  to  be  a 
plateau  of  grass  land  to  which  the  wild  camels  resort. 
The  guide  said  they  keep  away  from  the  caravan  tracks 
and  stay  up  in  the  mountains.  The  Mongols  follow  them 
and  catch  their  young,  which  they  use  for  riding  only, 
as  they  will  not  carry  a pack.  They  will  travel  eight 
hundred  li  in  a day — probably  an  exaggeration.  Their 
legs  are  thin,  and  the  hair  smooth.  At  three  years  old 
they  are  said  to  be  of  the  size  of  a horse  ; at  five  years,  the 
size  of  a small  tame  camel. 

The  guide  also  said  that  there  are  wild  horses  and  mules 
about  here  and  westward.  I saw  some  of  what  the  guide 
calls  wild  mules,  through  my  telescope.  They  are  the 
kyang  or  wild  ass  of  Ladak  and  Tibet,  and  are  in  size 


H 


98  ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

about  thirteen  or  fourteen  hands,  and  in  colour  a light 
bay,  being  brightest  under  the  belly.  The  head  and  tail 
were  like  a mule’s,  the  neck  thick  and  arched.  They 
trotted  fast,  with  a free,  easy  motion.  The  guide  said  the 
horses  go  about  in  troops  of  two  or  three  hundred. 

One  evening  Ma-te-la,  the  Mongol  assistant,  was  sud- 
denly seen  to  shoot  ahead  at  a great  pace,  and,  on  asking, 

I found  he  was  going  home.  On  he  went,  far  away  over 
the  plain,  till  he  became  a mere  dot  in  the  distance,  and  I 
could  not  help  envying  him.  In  the  same  direction,  and 
with  nothing  apparently  between  me  and  it  but  distance, 
was  my  home,  and  I felt  myself  struggling  to  pierce 
through  space,  and  see  myself  returning,  like  Ma-te-la, 
home.  But  the  dull  reality  was  that  I was  trudging 
along  beside  a string  of  heavy,  silent,  slow-going  camels, 
and  on  I had  to  go,  for  hour  after  hour  through  the  night 
with  monotonous  regularity. 

Suddenly,  after  travelling  for  nine  hours,  the  gravel 
plain  ended,  and  we  passed  over  a stretch  of  grass  and 
halted  by  a small  stream.  Close  by  were  pitched  four 
tents  (yurts),  and  this  was  Ma-te-la’s  home. 

He  came  to  me  the  next  day,  saying  the  guide  could 
not  pay  him  all  his  wages,  and  asked  me  to  lend  the  guide 
four  taels,  which  I did.  He  had  served  the  guide  for  two 
years,  and  the  guide  had  now  given  him  only  fifteen  taels 
(^3  i5.y.).  Poor  Ma-te-la  had  to  work  night  and  day, 
collect  fuel,  fetch  water,  look  after  the  camels  grazing,  and 
then  have  to  walk  the  whole  march.  In  spite  of  this  he 
was  always  perfectly  happy,  and  used  to  sing  and  whistle 
the  whole  march,  and  would  laugh  at  everything— if  you 
even  looked  at  him  you  saw  a grin  overspread  his  whole 
countenance.  And  now,  for  all  his  two  years  of  hard 
work  in  this  frightful  desert,  in  the  arctic  cold  of  winter 
and  the  tropical  heat  of  summer,  he  got  fifteen  taels — 
about  a penny  a day. 

We  continued  our  way  over  the  gravelly  plain  next  day. 
The  sunset  was  most  wonderful.  Even  in  the  Indian 
hills  during  the  rains  I have  never  seen  such  a peculiar 
red  tinge  as  the  clouds  had  to-night.  It  was  not  red. 


1887] 


AN  OASIS 


99 


it  was  not  purple,  but  a mixture  between  the  two — very 
deep,  and  at  the  same  time  shining  very  brightly.  I have 
seen  at  Simla  and  in  Switzerland  more  glorious  sunsets, 
with  richer  diffusion  of  colours,  but  never  one  of  such 
a strange  colouring  as  this.  An  hour  and  a half  later, 
when  it  was  nearly  dark,  a very  light,  phosphorescent- 
looking  cloud  hung  over  the  place  of  sunset. 

The  gravel  plain  gradually  gave  way  to  a light  clay 
soil,  with  plenty  of  bushes  ; and  a little  further  we  came 
on  a regular  meadow,  with  herds  of  cattle,  sheep,  and 
ponies,  and  several  Mongol  tents.  We  even  saw  patches 
of  cultivation  and  trees,  and  water  was  plentiful,  and  was 
led  on  to  the  fields  by  irrigation  ducts.  Wheat  was  the 
only  crop  grown.  The  Mongol  is  evidently  not  fitted  for 
agriculture,  for  the  plots  of  cultivation  were  in  the  most 
untidy  state.  There  were  no  signs  of  furrows,  and  the 
seed  had  evidently  been  thrown  broadcast  over  the  land  ; 
in  some  places  it  was  very  thick,  and  in  others  very  thin. 
This  was  the  first  real  oasis  we  had  come  across.  It  is 
in  a depression  between  the  range  of  hills,  the  ground 
gently  sloping  down  to  it  from  every  side. 

On  June  25  we  reached  Ula-khutun,  where  the  road  to 
Hami  leaves  the  road  to  Guchen.  It  is  merely  a camping- 
ground,  situated  in  a stony  plain,  surrounded  by  low 
mounds  or  heaps  of  gravel,  at  the  southern  base  of  a 
branch  from  the  main  range  of  the  Altai  Mountains,  from 
which  it  is  separated  by  a gravelly  plain  about  twenty 
miles  in  width — the  extension  westward  of  the  same  plain 
in  which  Ya-hu  is  situated.  The  height  of  this  southern 
ridge  must  be  considerable,  for  a heavy  snowstorm  was 
falling  on  it  even  so  late  in  the  year  as  this  (June  25),  and 
the  snow  seemed  to  remain  there. 

A peculiarity  common  to  all  the  mountains  which  I 
had  seen  in  the  Gobi — the  long,  even,  sloping  gravel 
plains  which  run  down  from  their  summits  till  they  join 
the  corresponding  sloping  plains  of  a parallel  range  or 
merge  in  the  broad  desert — had  long  puzzled  me.  But 
here,  among  the  lower  ridge  of  the  Altai  Mountains,  I 
had  better  opportunities  of  examining  the  rocks,  and  it 


lOO 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 


seems  to  me  that  the  following  is  the  true  cause  of  the 
formation  of  these  sloping  plains. 

The  hills  in  the  Gobi,  as  has  been  noted  several  times, 
are  perfectly  bare,  and  in  such  an  extremely  dry  climate, 
exposed  to  the  icy  cold  winds  of  winter  and  the  fierce 
rays  of  the  summer  sun,  and  unprotected  by  one  atom  of 
soil,  the  rocks  first  decompose,  and  then  crumble  away 
to  a remarkable  extent,  and  there  being  no  rainfall  suffi- 
cient to  wash  away  the  debris,  the  lower  features  of  a 
range  gradually  get  covered  with  a mass  of  debris  falling 
from  the  upper  portions,  and  in  the  course  of  time  a 
uniform  slope  is  created,  often  thirty  or  forty  miles  in 
length,  and  it  is  only  for  a few  hundred  feet  at  the  top  that 
the  original  jagged  rocky  outline  is  seen. 

In  the  smaller  features  the  process  of  decomposition 
could  be  seen  actually  going  on.  The  rocks  are  all 
cracked  and  give  way  at  a touch,*  while  occasionally 
masses  spontaneously  detach  themselves.  The  general 
effect,  then,  that  is  being  produced  on  these  mountains 
by  the  combined  action  of  the  heat  of  the  sun  and  the 
winter  frosts,  is  the  same  as  would  be  produced  by  heat 
upon  a rugged  mass  of  ice.  In  the  course  of  time  (for 
the  one,  a few  million  years — for  the  other,  a few  minutes) 
both  would  be  modified  into  round,  smooth  masses. 

From  Ula-khutun  we  passed  through  some  low  hills, 
and  on  the  march  came  across  the  horn  of  an  Ovis  argali. 
It  was  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  path.  On  measuring  it, 
I found  it  was  fifty  inches  round  the  curve  and  seventeen 
inches  in  circumference  at  base — an  immense  horn.  The 
Mongols  say  there  are  plenty  in  the  Tian-shan — they 
called  it  arJigali—a-nd  say  it  has  a white  breast  (see 
Prjevalsky).  The  kuku-yamen,  they  say,  is  also  found 
about  here. 

We  camped  at  6.30  by  a spring  and  some  good  grass, 
which  the  camels  have  not  had  for  some  time.  I climbed 
one  of  the  highest  hills  to  have  a look  round.  There 

* The  rocks  used  actually  to  become  sunburnt.  On  the  side  exposed  to 
the  sun  and  the  weather  they  would  become  dark  brown  and  shining-,  while 
on  the  side  unexposed  to  the  sun  they  were  of  a dull  light-brown  colour. 


THE  HEAVENLY  MOUNTAINS 


lOI 


1887] 

were  plenty  of  white,  soft  clouds  about,  but  suddenly  my 
eye  rested  on  what  I felt  sure  was  a great  snowy  range. 
I had  out  my  telescope,  and  there,  sure  enough,  far  away 
in  the  distance,  were  the  real  Tian-shan,  only  just  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  clouds.  My  delight  was  unbounded, 
and  for  long  I feasted  my  eyes  on  those  “Heavenly 
Mountains,”  as  the  Chinese  call  them,  for  they  marked 
the  end  of  my  long  desert  journey. 

Our  next  march,  however,  was  the  most  trying  of  all, 
for  we  had  to  cross  the  branch  of  the  Gobi,  which  is 
called  the  desert  of  Zungaria,  one  of  the  most  absolutely 
sterile  parts  of  the  whole  Gobi.  We  started  at  eleven  in 
the  morning,  passing  at  first  through  the  low  hills,  which 
were  perfectly  barren,  though  the  hollows  had  a few  tufts 
of  bushes,  and  one  hollow  was  filled  with  white  roses. 
After  seven  and  a half  miles  we  left  the  hills  and  entered 
a gravel  plain  covered  with  coarse  bushes,  but  no  grass. 
There  was  no  path,  and  we  headed  straight  for  the  end 
of  the  Tian-shan  range.  After  passing  over  the  plain  for 
fifteen  miles,  we  struck  a path  and  followed  it  along  till 
ii.o  p.m.,  when  we  halted  to  cook  some  food  and  rest  the 
camels.  It  was  of  no  use  pitching  camp,  for  there  was 
neither  water,  fuel,  nor  grass  ; not  a bush,  nor  a plant, 
nor  a blade  of  grass — absolutely  nothing  but  gravel.  I 
lay  down  on  the  ground  and  slept  till  Liu-san  brought 
me  some  soup  and  tinned  beef.  We  started  again  at 
4 a.m.,  and  marched  till  3.15  p.m.  through  the  most 
desolate  country  I have  ever  seen.  Nothing  we  had 
passed  hitherto  could  compare  with  it — a succession  of 
gravel  ranges  without  any  sign  of  life,  animal  or  veget- 
able, and  not  a drop  of  water.  We  were  gradually 
descending  to  a very  low  level,  the  sun  was  getting 
higher  and  higher,  and  the  wind  hotter  and  hotter,  until 
I shrank  from  it  as  from  the  blast  of  a furnace.  Only  the 
hot  winds  of  the  Punjab  can  be  likened  to  it.  Fortunately 
we  still  had  some  water  in  the  casks,  brought  from  our 
last  camping-ground,  and  we  had  some  bread,  so  we 
were  not  on  our  last  legs  ; but  it  was  a trying  enough 
march  for  the  men,  and  much  more  so  for  the  camels,  for 


102 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 


they  had  nothing  to  eat  or  drink,  and  the  heat  both  days 
was  extreme.  We  at  last  reached  a well  among  some 
trees.  The  guide  called  the  distance  two  hundred  and 
thirty  li,  and  I reckon  it  at  about  seventy  miles.  We 
were  twenty-seven  hours  and  three-quarters  from  camp, 
including  the  halt  of  four  and  a half  hours.  We  had 
descended  nearly  four  thousand  feet,  and  the  heat  down 
there  was  very  much  greater  than  any  we  had  yet  ex- 
perienced. We  were  encamped  on  the  dry  bed  of  a river, 
on  the  skirts  of  what  looked  like  a regular  park — the 
country  being  covered  with  trees,  and  the  ground  with 
long,  coarse  grass.  It  was  most  striking,  as  on  the  other 
bank  of  the  river  there  was  not  a vestige  of  vegetation. 

We  had  taken  on  a Mongol  guide,  and  I had  told  him 
to  keep  a look-out  for  Ovis  poli.  Shortly  after  we  left  our 
last  camp  among  the  low  hills,  he  gave  a shout,  and 
darted  off  at  a heap  of  sticks,  and  extricated  two  pairs  of 
Ovis  poli  horns.  One  a magnificent  pair,  which  measured 
fifty-two  and  fifty-four  inches  respectively.  These  I took 
on,  and  left  the  other  pair,  which  measured  only  forty- 
three  inches.  The  large  pair  measured  nineteen  inches 
round  the  base  — as  thick  as  my  thigh.  The  Mongol 
guide  said  this  was  a hiding-place  for  the  hunters.  It 
was  placed  fifty  yards  from  some  water,  where  the  animals 
came  to  drink.  I asked  the  guide  if  he  had  seen  wild 
camels  about  here;  he  said,  “Any  amount,”  and  that  he 
had  some  young  ones  at  his  yurt,  and  also  some  skins. 
What  a chance  I had  missed  ! for  his  tent  was  only  ten 
miles  off  our  camp  at  Ula-khutun.  Further  on  in  the 
desert  of  Zungaria  we  passed  a track  which  he  said  was 
that  of  a wild  camel.  It  was  smaller  than  the  tame  camel’s 
footprint,  and,  as  it  was  a single  track  and  leading  straight 
across  our  line  of  march  right  up  the  desert  of  Zungaria — 
from  nowhere  to  nowhere — and  miles  from  any  camping- 
spot,  it  was  not  likely  to  have  been  anything  else  but  that 
of  a wild  camel. 

After  this  long  and  trying  march  we  (or  I,  at  any  rate) 
scarcely  got  a wink  of  sleep,  for  the  heat  was  stifling, 
without  a breath  of  air,  and  I was  lying  on  the  ground 


TURKESTAN 


103 


1887] 

in  a Kabul  tent,  pestered  by  a plague  of  sandflies,  which 
got  into  my  eyes,  nose,  and  everywhere.  That  was  the 
most  despairing  time  of  my  whole  journey,  and  many 
times  that  night  I accused  myself  of  being  the  greatest 
fool  yet  created,  and  swore  by  all  the  gods  I would  never 
go  wandering  about  the  wild  places  of  the  earth  again. 
These  periods  of  depression  must  occur  to  every  traveller. 
He  cannot  help  asking  himself  now  and  then,  “What’s 
the  good  of  it  all?”  But  ’tis  always  darkest  before  the 
dawn,  and  I could  just  see  the  first  glimmering  of 
awakening  day — the  snowy  summits  of  the  “Heavenly 
Mountains”  were  rising  above  me.  There  was  still  some 
hard  and  trying  work  to  be  done,  though.  As  the  sun 
rose  next  morning  a breeze  sprang  up  which  drove  away 
the  sandflies,  but  the  heat  became  intense.  In  spite  of 
it  we  had  to  start  at  1.30  in  the  afternoon,  and  march  till 
three  the  next  morning. 

For  nearly  two  miles  we  passed  through  a country 
well  covered  with  trees,  and  patches  of  coarse  grass  and 
bushes.  The  soil  was  partly  clay  and  partly  sand.  This 
ended  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun,  and  we  passed  over 
the  gravel  desert  again,  where  there  was  no  vestige  of 
grass  or  scrub.  The  hot  wind  blowing  off  this  seemed 
absolutely  to  scorch  one  up  ; but  yesterday’s  order  of 
things  was  now  reversed — we  were  ascending  while  the 
sun  was  descending,  and  it  gradually  became  cooler,  and 
about  ten  at  night  we  suddenly  found  ourselves  going 
over  turf,  with  bushes  and  trees  on  either  side.  A shrill, 
clear  voice  hailed  us  from  the  distance.  We  halted  ; the 
guide  answered,  and  the  stranger  came  up  and  turned 
out  to  be  a Turki  woman,  who  led  us  through  the  bushes 
over  some  cultivated  ground  to  a house,  the  first  I had 
seen  for  nearly  a thousand  miles. 

It  was  the  first  sign  that  I had  entered  a new  land — 
Turkestan — the  mysterious  land  which  I had  longed  for 
many  a day  to  see.  Flowing  by  the  house  was  a little 
stream  of  the  most  delicious  water.  It  was  scarcely  a 
yard  broad,  but  it  was  not  a mere  trickle  like  the  others 
we  had  passed  in  the  Gobi,  it  was  flowing  rapidly,  with 


104 


ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 


a delightful  gurgling  noise,  and  was  deep  enough  for  me 
to  scoop  up  water  between  my  two  hands.  I gulped 
down  mouthful  after  mouthful  of  it,  and  enjoyed  such  a 
drink  as  I had  not  had  for  many  a long  day,  and  as  I 
lay  down  on  the  grass  on  its  bank  while  the  water-casks 
were  being  filled,  I thought  the  trials  of  the  desert  journey 
were  nearly  over.  But  they  were  not  quite ; hardly  fifty 
yards  from  the  stream  the  vegetation  disappeared,  and  we 
were  again  on  gravel  desert,  and  we  had  still  to  travel  for 
five  hours,  gradually  ascending  as  before — at  twelve  pass- 
ing through  a gorge  two  and  a half  miles  long,  in  a range 
of  little  hills  running  parallel  to  the  slope.  We  halted 
as  the  day  was  dawning,  on  a part  of  the  slope  where 
there  was  enough  scrub  for  fuel  and  for  the  animals  to 
eat,  though  no  water. 

Next  day  we  continued  to  ascend  the  long  lower  slopes 
of  the  Tian-shan,  gradually  rounding  the  eastern  extremity 
of  these  mountains.  We  passed  a cart-track  leading  from 
Barkul  to  Hami,  which  makes  this  detour  round  the  Tian- 
shan  to  avoid  crossing  them.  The  going  was  bad  on 
account  of  the  stones,  and  because  the  whole  slope  was 
cut  up  by  dry  water-courses,  which  though  seldom  more 
than  a foot  deep,  were  very  frequent.  They  were  formed 
by  the  natural  drainage  from  the  mountains,  which,  in- 
stead of  running  in  deep  valleys,  spreads  over  the  slope. 
The  whole  country  was  still  barren,  being  covered  with 
scrub  only ; but  in  the  depression  at  the  foot  of  the  slope 
was  a small  Turki  village,  surrounded  with  trees  and 
cultivation.  • 

That  night  we  encamped  near  a Turki  house  called 
Morgai,  surrounded  with  fields  of  wheat  and  rice,  watered 
from  a small  stream  which  appeared  above  the  surface 
just  here,  and  which,  lower  down,  spread  out  and  was 
swallowed  in  the  pebbly  slopes  of  the  mountain. 

The  following  morning  I,  for  the  first  time,  had  an 
opportunity  of  examining  more  closely  one  of  this  new 
race  of  people  through  whose  country  I was  about  to 
travel  for  fifteen  hundred  miles  or  so.  The  men  were 
tall  and  fine-looking,  with  more  of  the  Mongol  cast  of 


1887] 


THE  TURKI  WOMEN 


105 

feature  about  them  than  I had  expected.  Their  faces,  how- 
ever, though  somewhat  round,  were  slightly  more  elon- 
gated than  the  Mongols’,  and  showed  considerably  more 
intelligence.  But  there  was  more  roundness  and  less 
intelligence,  less  sharpness  in  the  outlines  than  is  seen 
in  the  inhabitants  of  the  districts  about  Kashgar  and 
Yarkand.  In  fact,  afterwards,  in  the  bazaar  at  Hami,  I 
could  easily  distinguish  a Kashgari  from  an  inhabitant 
of  the  eastern  end  of  Turkestan. 

As  I proceeded  westward  I noticed  a gradual,  scarcely 
perceptible  change  from  the  round  of  a Mongolian  type 
to  a sharper  and  yet  more  sharp  type  of  feature.  Whether 
this  is  accidental,  or  whether  it  is  brought  about  by  the 
commingling  of  separate  races,  I know  not ; but  I think 
I am  not  wrong  in  stating  that  the  further  east  one  goes, 
the  rounder  and  broader  are  the  faces  of  the  inhabitants, 
and  the  further  west  one  goes  the  longer  and  narrower 
they  become. 

Here  at  Morgai,  too,  I saw  the  Turki  women.  Very 
different  they  were  from  the  doll-like  Chinese  women, 
with  painted  faces,  waddling  about  on  contorted  feet ; 
from  the  sturdy,  bustling  Manchu  women,  and  from  the 
simple,  silly  Mongol  girls  with  their  great  red  cheeks 
and  dirty,  unintelligent  faces.  These  Turkis  were  fine, 
handsome  women,  with  complexions  not  much  darker 
than  Greeks  or  Spaniards.  They  had  good  colour  on 
their  cheeks,  and  their  eyes  were  dark  and  full.  Their 
whole  appearance  was  most  picturesque,  for  they  had  a 
fine,  dignified  bearing,  and  were  dressed  in  a long,  loose 
robe  not  confined  at  the  waist,  their  long,  black  tresses 
allowed  to  fall  over  their  shoulders,  only  fastened  at  the 
ends  into  two  thick  plaits;  on  their  head,  slightly  inclined 
backwards,  they  wore  a bright  red  cap,  which  set  off  their 
whole  appearance  very  effectively.  They  stared  with  great 
astonishment  at  the  sudden  appearance  of  a white  man 
(though  I fancy  that  at  that  time  my  face  was  not  quite 
as  white  as  an  Englishman’s  generally  is).  But  we  had 
not  much  time  to  examine  each  other’s  charms,  for  I had 
that  day  to  cross  the  Tian-shan. 


io6  ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

Starting  early,  we  ascended  the  stream,  but  it  soon  dis- 
appeared again,  and  we  saw  nothing  more  of  it.  The 
hillsides  were  at  first  rather  bare,  but  the  higher  we  got 
the  greener  they  became  ; and  after  five  or  six  miles  were 
covered  with  rich  green  turf,  most  delightful  to  look  upon 
after  the  bare  hills  of  the  Gobi ; while  here  and  there 
through  an  opening  in  the  hills  we  could  catch  a glimpse 
of  the  snowy  peaks  above.  There  are,  however,  no  trees 
nor  even  bushes,  either  on  the  hills  or  in  the  valleys. 

I was  told  we  should  probably  see  some  Ovis  argali^  so 
I went  on  ahead  with  my  carbine  and  telescope.  By  the 
roadside  we  passed  several  horns  of  the  Ovis  argali,  and 
two  other  kinds  of  wild  sheep  or  goat,  Ovis  argali  being 
the  most  common. 

In  the  bed  of  the  stream  I found  a magnificent  Ovis 
argali  head,  measuring  fifty-six  inches,  and  put  it  in 
triumph  on  a camel  ; but  a few  miles  further  on  I rejected 
it  with  scorn,  when,  lying  on  a rock,  I saw  a huge  head, 
one  horn  of  which  measured  sixty-two  inches.  Both 
horns  were  in  almost  perfect  condition,  and  were  still  on 
the  skull,  so  that  I had  the  whole  thing  complete.  The 
guide  said  it  was  as  big  a one  as  was  to  be  got. 

All  the  Ovis  argali  horns  I saw  to-day  were  different 
from  those  which  I saw  on  the  Altai  Mountains.  The 
latter  were  thicker  at  the  base  (nineteen  inches  round  as 
against  sixteen),  and  they  were  more  rounded,  and  not  so 
much  twisted.  The  Mongol  says  the  sheep  are  the  same. 

We  crossed  the  range  at  a height  of  eight  thousand 
feet.  Except  the  last  half-mile  the  ascent  was  not  steep, 
but  led  gradually  up  a narrow  valley.  The  last  mile  or 
two  was  over  soft  green  turf,  and  near  the  summit  there 
was  a perfect  mass  of  flowers,  chiefly  forget-me-nots ; 
and  I am  sure  I shall  not  forget  for  a very  long  time  the 
pleasure  it  was,  seeing  all  this  rich  profusion  of  flowers 
and  grass,  in  place  of  those  dreary  gravel  slopes  of  the 
Gobi  Desert.  The  sun  had  now  set,  and  I climbed  a 
neighbouring  peak  as  a last  hope  of  seeing  an  Ovis 
argali,  but  there  was  not  a sign  of  one.  There  was  no 
great  view  from  the  summit,  as  higher  peaks  rose  all 


OUT  OF  THE  DESERT 


107 


1887] 

round,  and  I could  only  just  catch  a glimpse  of  the  plain 
to  the  south,  which  was  covered  with  a distant  haze. 

There  were  still  no  trees  to  be  seen,  and  a curious 
characteristic  of  these  hills  is  that  there  is  absolutely  no 
water.  For  twelve  miles  from  Morgai  to  the  summit 
of  the  pass  we  had  not  seen  a drop  of  water.  From  this 
absence  of  water  the  valleys  were  not  deep — not  more 
than  five  or  six  hundred  feet  below  the  summit  of  the  hills 
on  either  side — nor  were  the  hillsides  remarkably  steep, 
as  in  the  Himalayas.  They  are  grassy  slopes  with  rocks 
cropping  out  at  their  summits,  and  here  and  there  on 
their  sides.  Five  miles  on  the  southern  side  a small 
stream  appeared,  and  the  valley  bottom  was  partitioned 
off  into  fields,  round  which  irrigation  ducts  had  been  led  ; 
but  these  were  all  now  deserted,  and  the  water  was  wasted 
in  flowing  over  uncultivated  fields.  Trees  now  began  to 
appear  near  the  stream,  and  at  ii.io  p.m.  we  pitched 
camp  on  a little  grassy  plot  near  a stream  of  cold  clear 
water,  and  under  a small  grove  of  trees.  It  really  seemed 
the  height  of  bliss — a perfect  paradise,  and  the  desert 
journey  a terrible  nightmare  behind  me.  I was  awakened 
next  morning  by  a deafening  din,  as  it  appeared  to  me, 
but  which  was  in  reality  nothing  else  than  the  twittering 
of  the  birds  and  the  hum  of  insects.  In  the  desert  there 
had  always  been  a death-like  silence — not  the  hum  of  the 
smallest  insect  or  the  chirrup  of  a single  bird.  It  was 
only  now  when  I was  again  surrounded  by  life  that  I 
truly  realised  the  solemn  silence  of  the  desert. 

I was  hoping,  after  crossing  the  Tian-shan,  to  come 
upon  a comparatively  well-populated  country,  with  a fair 
extent  of  cultivated  land  ; but  was  disappointed  at  finding 
the  same  barren  desert  as  before,  with,  however,  a small 
oasis  every  fifteen  or  twenty  miles.  The  inhabitants  were 
principally  Tunganis  and  Chinese,  and  looked  very  poor  ; 
but  the  Turkis  were  all  fine,  healthy-looking  men. 

On  July  22  we  passed  a small  square-walled  town  called 
Ching-cheng,  surrounded  by  fields  of  wheat  and  some 
good  grass  land,  but  when  these  ended  the  desert  began 
again  directly. 


io8  ACROSS  THE  GOBI  DESERT  [chap,  v 

A long  way  off  over  the  desert  we  could  see  a couple  of 
poplar  trees  rising  out  of  the  plain.  These  poplars  are 
very  common  all  over  Chinese  Turkestan,  and  they  make 
excellent  landmarks.  We  reached  these  at  twelve  at 
night,  and  found  a few  soldiers  stationed  there,  who  said 
that  Hami  was  still  a long  way  off.  Now,  as  my  constant 
inquiry  for  the  last  month  had  been,  “ How  far  are  we 
from  Hami  ? ” and  as  the  guide  for  the  last  few  days  had 
each  time  said  we  were  only  sixty  miles  off,  I was  rather 
exasperated  to  find  that,  instead  of  having  ten  or  twenty 
miles  more  to  get  over,  there  was  still  a good  fifty.  So 
on  striking  camp  at  two  the  following  afternoon,  I told 
my  men  that  my  tent  would  not  be  pitched  again  till 
Hami  was  reached,  so  they  had  better  prepare  themselves 
for  a good  march.  We  travelled  on  all  through  the  after- 
noon— a particularly  hot  one  ; then  the  sun  set  before  us, 
and  still  we  went  on  and  on  through  the  night  till  it  rose 
again  behind  us. 

We  halted  for  a couple  of  hours  by  the  roadside  to  ease 
the  camels,  and  then  set  out  again.  At  eight  o’clock  the 
desert  ended,  and  we  began  to  pass  through  cultivated 
land,  and  at  last  we  saw  Hami  in  the  distance,  and  after 
traversing  a tract  of  country  covered  with  more  ruined 
than  inhabited  houses,  we  reached  an  inn  at  ii  a.m.,  and 
it  was  with  unspeakable  relief  that  I dismounted  from  my 
camel  for  the  last  time. 

My  desert  journey  was  now  over,  and  I had  accom- 
plished the  1,255  iTiiles  from  Kwei-hwa-cheng  in  just 
seventy  days  ; in  the  last  week  of  which  I had  travelled 
224  miles,  including  the  crossing  of  the  Tian-shan  Moun- 
tains. 


CHAPTER  VI 


THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND 

My  first  inquiries  after  arrival  ■were  as  to  whether 
Colonel  Bell  had  arrived.  I had  reached  here  some 
weeks  later  than  the  appointed  date  on  which  we  were  to 
have  met,  but  still  he  had  had  a long  round  to  travel,  and 
might  have  been  late  too.  I was  told  that  he  had  passed 
through  about  three  weeks  before,  and  it  was  a marvel  to 
me  how  he  had  managed  to  travel  so  quickly.  But  there 
is  probably  no  faster  or  better  traveller  than  Colonel  Bell. 
He  has  travelled  in  Persia,  Asia  Minor,  Beluchistan, 
Burma,  and  China,  besides  this  present  journey  that  he 
was  engaged  in  ; and  those  who  have  read  the  accounts  of 
his  travels  know  that  there  are  few,  if  any,  Europeans  who 
have  seen  and  done  and  recorded  more  than  Colonel  Bell. 

My  next  inquiries  were  as  to  the  means  of  reaching 
Kashgar,  and  the  time  it  would  take  to  get  there.  Diffi- 
culties, of  course,  arose  at  first.  It  was  the  hot  season, 
and  carters  would  not  hire  out  their  carts.  In  any  case  it 
would  take  seventy  days  to  reach  there,  and  this  would 
bring  us  to  the  end  of  September,  with  the  whole  of  the 
Himalayas  to  cross  before  winter. 

In  the  evening  I took  a stroll  through  the  town,  and 
found  all  the  bustle  of  life  customary  to  a small  trading 
centre.  Hami  is  a small  town  of  perhaps  five  or  six 
thousand  inhabitants.  There  are  fairly  good  shops,  and 
a busy  bazaar,  where  one  sees  people  of  many  nationalities 
meeting  together — Chinese,  Mongols,  Kalmaks,  Turkis, 
and  others.  Large  heavily  laden  travelling  carts  would 
come  lumbering  through,  and  strings  of  camels  from 
across  the  desert. 


109 


no  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 


I was  looking  out  for  a shop  where  it  was  said  Russian 
goods  could  be  bought.  When  I found  it,  I noticed 
Russian  characters  above,  and  on  looking  behind  the 
counter  was  both  surprised  and  delighted  to  see  a Russian. 
He  shook  hands  very  heartily  with  me,  and  asked  me  to 
come  inside.  He  spoke  neither  Chinese  nor  English,  but 
only  Russian  and  Mongol,  and  as  I could  speak  neither 
of  those  languages,  we  had  to  communicate  with  each 
other  through  a Chinaman,  who  spoke  Mongol.  This 
Russian  lived  in  a Chinese  house,  in  Chinese  fashion,  but 
was  dressed  in  European  clothes.  On  the  walls  of  his 
room  I noticed  a flaring  picture  entitled  “The  Prince  of 
Wales  in  India,”  in  which  everybody  had  a vermilion 
complexion,  and  was  dressed  in  a most  gorgeous  and  im- 
possible uniform.  He  told  me  that  trading  at  this  place 
was  not  very  profitable.  He  sold  chiefly  cotton  goods 
and  iron-ware,  such  as  pails,  basins,  knives,  etc.  There 
had  been  five  Russian  merchants  here,  but  two  had  gone 
to  Kobdo,  and  two  were  engaged  in  hunting  down  Chinese 
mandarins,  to  try  to  get  money  which  was  owing  to 
them. 

The  next  evening  I invited  the  Russian  round  to  my 
inn  to  dinner.  Conversation  was  difficult,  but  we  man- 
aged to  spend  a very  pleasant  evening,  and  drank  to  the 
health  of  our  respective  sovereigns.  I held  up  my  glass 
and  said,  “Czar,”  and  we  drank  together.  Then  I held 
it  up  again  and  said,  “Skobeleff,”  and  so  on  through 
every  Russian  I had  heard  of.  My  guest,  I am  sorry  to 
say,  knew  very  few  Englishmen,  but  he  had  grasped  the 
fact  that  we  had  a queen,  so  at  five-minute  intervals  he 
would  drink  to  her  Majesty. 

Three  years  later,  when  I was  at  Kashgar,  I heard  that 
two  Russian  merchants  residing  at  Hami  had  been  im- 
prisoned by  the  Chinese  authorities,  and  treated  in  the 
most  terrible  manner  by  them.  A European  in  the  employ 
of  the  Chinese  heard  of  this,  brought  it  to  the  notice  of  the 
Russian  minister  at  Pekin,  and  I believe  their  release  was 
obtained,  but  not  before  they  had  undergone  the  most 
fearful  sufferings  from  hunger  and  imprisonment  in  foul. 


A SUCCESSFUL  CONTRACT 


III 


1887] 


pest-stricken  dungeons.  I have  often  wondered  whether 
my  hearty,  good-natured  guest  was  one  of  them. 

Besides  the  native  town  of  Hami,  there  is  also  a Chinese 
walled  town,  about  six  hundred  yards  square,  with  four 
gateways,  each  surmounted  by  a massive  tower. 

Sir  Henry  Howorth,  the  author  of  the  History  of  the 
Mongols,  asked  me  on  my  return  whether  I had  noticed 
any  old  ruins  at  Hami.  All  the  country  round  Hami  is 
covered  with  ruins,  but  mostly  of  mud-constructed  build- 
ings, the  age  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  conjecture.  I 
did  not  look  out  for  anything  special,  and  the  only  re- 
markable ruins  I remember  were  those  of  what  appeared 
to  be  an  old  temple  with  a dome  of  green  glazed  tiles. 

We  halted  four  days  at  Hami,  and  made  a new  start  for 
Kashgar — the  second  great  stage  of  the  journey — on 
July  8.  It  appeared  that  carts  could  be  taken  the  whole 
way,  so  camels  were  no  longer  required,  and  I was 
fortunate  in  being  able  to  effect  an  excellent  arrangement 
with  my  “ boy  ” Liu-san,  by  which  he  engaged  to  land  me 
at  Kashgar  by  contract  on  a certain  date.  I was  to  be 
regarded  as  a piece  of  merchandise  to  be  carted  from  one 
place  to  the  other,  and  he  was  to  undertake  the  whole  of 
the  arrangement.  He  was  to  land  me  and  my  baggage  at 
Kashgar  in  forty  days,  and  was  to  be  paid  seventy  taels 
(about  lOj".)  here  at  Hami,  and  thirty  taels  more  if  we 
reached  Kashgar  in  that  time.  He  was  to  receive  two 
taels  extra  for  every  day  in  advance  of  that  time,  and  two 
taels  would  be  deducted  for  every  day  more  than  the  forty 
days.  This  arrangement  fully  answered  my  expectations. 
The  money  which  was  to  be  made  for  transport  went  into 
my  “boy’s,”  and  not  into  some  outsider’s  pocket,  so  that 
he  at  once  became  directly  interested  in  the  journey.  And, 
in  order  to  get  along  quickly,  instead  of  having  to  go 
through  all  that  irritating  and  irksome  process  of  per- 
petually nagging  away  at  the  servants  and  pony-men, 
which  utterly  destroys  all  the  charm  of  travel,  I could  go 
about  with  my  mind  at  rest,  well  assured  that  my  “ boy” 
would  be  worrying  at  me  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning, 
not  to  delay  at  starting,  and  to  go  on  for  another  few  miles 


1 12  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

instead  of  halting  at  a tempting  place  in  the  evening.  I 
became  an  impassive  log,  and  enjoyed  myself  immensely. 
It  was  quite  a new  sensation  to  be  able  to  lie  lazily  on  in 
bed  while  breakfast  was  being  got  ready  ; at  the  end  of 
breakfast  to  find  everything  prepared  for  the  start ; and  all 
the  way  through  to  have  an  enthusiastic  and  energetic 
servant  constantly  urging  me  to  go  on  further  and 
quicker. 

The  “boy,”  with  the  advance  he  had  received  from  me, 
bought  up  a cart  and  four  animals  (two  mules  and  two 
ponies),  and  this  carried  all  the  baggage  and  supplies  of 
the  party,  while  I rode  a pony.  The  cart  was  of  the 
description  known  in  Turkestan  as  an  araba,  a large 
covered  cart,  with  only  one  pair  of  very  high  wheels.  One 
animal  was  in  the  shafts,  and  three  tandem  fashion  in 
front.  The  weight  of  the  baggage,  supplies,  etc.  (in- 
cluding a certain  amount  of  grain  for  the  animals),  which 
the  cart  carried  was  one  thousand  five  hundred  catties 
(two  thousand  pounds). 

Oul-  start  from  Hami  was  made  at  eight  in  the  evening. 
For  half  an  hour  we  passed  through  cultivated  lands,  and 
then  were  in  the  dead  desert  again.  Away  on  our  right 
were  the  Tian-shan  Mountains,  but  they  looked  quite 
bare,  and  no  snowy  peaks  were  visible  ; to  the  left  all  was 
desert.  At  about  twenty  miles  we  passed  a small  village 
called  Ta-pu-ma,  with  the  ruins  of  some  barracks  ; and 
halted  at  4.20  on  the  following  morning  at  Eurh-pu,  a 
pretty  little  village  surrounded  with  orchards,  the  trees  of 
which  were  covered  with  apples. 

There  were  so  many  ruined  houses  that  it  is  hard  to  say 
how  many  inhabited  dwellings  there  were^ — probably  about 
twenty.  The  inhabitants  were  both  Chinese  and  Kalmaks. 
The  inn  was  a very  poor  one,  the  rooms  being  low  and 
dirty,  with  no  windows  or  doors,  and  only  an  open  door- 
way. The  kang  was  very  dirty  and  made  of  mud,  and 
not  even  covered  with  matting.  The  roof  was  composed 
of  grass  laid  across  beams  of  wood,  which  let  both  rain 
and  sun  through. 

The  desert  began  again  almost  immediately  after  leav- 


1887] 


PI-CHAN 


”3 


ing  Eurh-pu,  but  it  was  not  so  bad  as  the  Gobi.  There 
was  a fair  amount  of  grass  and  scrub,  but  it  was  unfitted 
for  cultivation.  Nearer  the  mountains  there  appeared  to 
be  villages,  and,  after  going  a few  miles,  we  saw  on  the 
left  a small  green  plain,  with  a fair-sized  village  and 
several  streams  running  down  towards  it. 

At  forty  li  we  passed  the  village  of  S’an-pu,  which  also 
had  the  ruins  of  a barracks,  and  on  the  western  side  were 
two  tombs  of  Chinese  military  mandarins,  who  had  died 
in  the  war.  They  were  not  handsome  tombs,  but  they 
were  very  conspicuous,  as  they  were  from  fifty  to  sixty 
feet  high.  They  were  built  of  brick,  and  in  good  preser- 
vation. All  other  buildings  were  made  of  mud.  For  the 
rest  of  the  way  we  passed  over  desert,  occasionally  passing 
a house  on  a small  stream  or  spring  in  a hollow.  There 
is  a sort  of  half-dead  air  about  this  country ; for  every 
inhabited  house,  at  least  two  in  ruins  are  to  be  seen.  In 
passing  through  villages,  scarcely  an  inhabitant  is  met 
with,  and  in  the  fields  no  one  seems  to  be  working.  If  I 
had  come  from  anywhere  else  but  the  Gobi,  I should 
probably  have  found  it  extremely  depressing.  The 
villages  look  very  pretty  at  a distance,  surrounded,  as  they 
are,  with  trees  and  green  fields,  forming  a contrast  to  the 
neighbouring  desert ; but  as  they  are  approached  they  are 
seen  to  contain  so  many  ruins  and  patches  of  ground 
formerly  cultivated  and  now  lying  fallow,  that  the  charm 
is  lost. 

There  was  a similar  succession  of  desert  and  oasis  till 
the  little  town  of  Pi-chan  was  reached  on  July  15th.  It  is 
surrounded  by  a wall  about  four  hundred  yards  in  length  in 
each  direction,  and  contains  about  two  thousand  inhabit- 
ants. In  the  only  real  street  were  a few  shops,  small,  but 
clean,  in  which  were  sold  ordinary  articles  of  dress  and 
consumption.  Some  were  kept  by  Chinese,  and  some  by 
Turkis.  The  Turkis  here  seemed  more  well-to-do  than  at 
Kami ; they  were  better  dressed,  and  their  houses  were 
larger  and  cleaner.  The  women  usually  wear  a long  red 
gown  and  trousers.  They  tie  a bright-coloured  cloth 
round  their  head,  but  I saw  none  of  those  big  globe- 


1 14  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

shaped  caps  they  wore  at  Hami.  Leaving  Pi-chan  by  the 
north  gate,  we  passed  for  two  and  a half  miles  through 
a very  pretty,  well-cultivated  country,  through  which  ran 
a charming  little  stream,  its  banks  lined  with  graceful 
poplars  and  willows.  Numerous  little  irrigation  ducts 
were  carried  through  the  fields  and  straight  across  the 
road,  rather  to  the  hindrance  of  traffic  ; but  now  it  was  a 
positive  pleasure  to  hear  the  cart  splashing  through  water. 
There  were  a number  of  little  hamlets  dotted  over  the 
plain,  and  many  mosques,  all  built  of  mud  like  everything 
else  in  the  country.  Many  of  them  had  piles  of  Ovis 
argali  and  ibex  horns  on  the  ledges  of  the  roofs,  but  I saw 
no  Ovis  argali  as  fine  as  those  which  I obtained  in  the 
Gobi.  At  two  and  a half  miles  from  Pi-chan  the  delight- 
ful piece  of  country  came  to  an  end  abruptly,  and  we  were 
on  the  same  dreary  old  gravel  desert  again.  From  a piece 
of  rising  ground  I obtained  a good  view  of  the  country  we 
had  been  passing  through.  It  was  extremely  pretty.  The 
plain,  some  six  miles  in  length  from  east  to  west,  and  three 
or  four  from  north  to  south,  was  covered  over  with  trees, 
beneath  the  shade  of  which  nestled  the  little  Turki  ham- 
lets. About  a mile  to  the  south  of  Pi-chan,  was  a range 
of  sandhills  like  that  which  I saw  in  the  Gobi,  but  of  a 
darker  colour  and  not  so  high.  The  afternoon  was  terribly 
hot  on  the  gravelly  desert,  and,  after  passing  over  it  for 
sixteen  miles,  we  were  glad  enough  to  come  upon  another 
oasis.  We  halted  at  a pretty  village  built  on  the  steep 
bank  of  a little  stream.  A bustling  landlord  at  the  inn 
came  out  to  meet  us,  and  attended  to  us  more  in  the  Man- 
churian innkeeper  style  than  in  the  usual  listless  way  they 
had  in  Turkestan. 

I slept  on  the  ground  in  the  inn  yard,  as  it  was  too  hot 
even  in  the  cart.  There  was  at  least  one  good  point  to  be 
noted  of  this  country— the  absence  of  mosquitoes  or  flies 
in  number  enough  to  trouble  one.  If  there  were,  travelling 
in  heat  would  have  been  almost  unbearable,  and  I should 
have  felt  much  inclined  to  take  myself  off  to  the  snowy 
Tian-shan  Mountains  which  accompanied  us  march  by 
march,  exhibiting  their  cool,  refreshing  peaks  in  the  most 
tantalising  way  to  perspiring  mortals  down  below. 


WELLS  FOR  IRRIGATION 


”5 


1887] 

Next  day,  we  passed  several  rows  of  holes  dug  in  the 
ground.  They  were  in  long  lines,  the  holes  being  about 
twenty  yards  apart,  and  from  six  to  eight  feet  in  circumfer- 
ence. The  earth  was  piled  up  all  round,  and  as  the  holes 
had  been  dug  some  time  most  of  them  had  nearly  filled  up 
again.  In  some,  however,  the  sides  had  been  built  up 
with  wood,  to  form  a well.  It  looked  as  if  an  army  had 
pitched  camp  here,  and  had  set  to  work  to  dig  for  water. 

Again,  on  the  day  after,  we  found  the  desert  covered 
with  hundreds  of  wells,  said  to  have  been  dug  by  Chinese 
soldiers.  Line  after  line  of  them  we  passed,  each  line  a 
couple  of  miles  or  so  in  length,  with  wells  dug  at  intervals 
of  twenty  yards.  These  wells  were  not  circular,  but  rect- 
angular, about  two  and  a half  or  three  feet  broad  and  seven 
or  eight  feet  long.  We  could  not  see  the  bottom,  but  we 
halted  at  a house  where  one  of  these  wells  was  in  use,  and 
this  was  one  hundred  and  ten  feet  deep. 

The  origin  of  the  wells  I find  it  hard  to  explain.  My 
boy  told  me  that  they  had  been  dug  by  a Chinese  army 
besieging  Turfan.  This  army  had  not  been  able  to  obtain 
water  otherwise,  and  had  dug  these  wells.  I am  inclined 
to  doubt  the  truth  of  this  story,  though.  I would  rather 
say  they  were  what  are  known  in  Persia  and  Afghanistan 
as  “karez,”  and  intended  to  lead  water  obtainable  below 
the  surface  of  the  ground  along  underneath  it  down  the 
slope  from  one  well  to  another,  and  so  on  till  the  level  of 
the  land  to  be  irrigated  is  reached,  and  the  water  appears 
at  the  surface. 

We  stopped  at  a Turki  house.  The  water  from  the  well 
was  delightfully  cold,  and  the  house  clean  and  cool.  Half 
the  courtyard  was  covered  over,  and  in  this  covered  part 
was  a low  platform,  on  which  sat  the  inmates  of  the  house 
It  table.  I spread  my  mattress  on  the  floor  of  the  court- 
yard, and  went  off  to  sleep  as  fast  as  I could,  finding  a great 
idvantage  in  being  able  to  sleep  at  night  in  the  open  air 
vithout  any  fear  of  mosquitoes — our  bugbear  in  Manchuria. 

On  July  17,  after  crossing  a small  stream,  we  travelled 
hrough  tracts  of  deserted  houses  and  burial-grounds,  with 
lere  and  there  an  inhabited  house  and  some  cultiva- 


ii6  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

tion.  To  the  left  the  country  was  covered  with  trees, 
hamlets,  and  cultivation.  At  three  miles  from  Turfan 
we  passed  a mosque  with  a curious  tower,  which  looked 
as  much  like  a very  fat  factory  chimney  as  anything  else. 
It  was  about  eighty  feet  high,  circular,  and  built  of  mud 
bricks,  and  it  was  ornamented  by  placing  the  bricks  at 
different  angles,  forming  patterns.  It  was  built  at  the 
southern  and  eastern  corner  of  the  courtyard  of  the 
mosque.  The  gateway  was  of  the  ordinary  Indian  pattern. 

As  I rode  past  a house,  an  old  Turki  invited  me  in; 
but  I could  not  delay  the  cart.  We  reached  Turfan  at 
6 a.m.,  putting  up  at  an  inn  just  inside  of  the  southern 
part  of  the  Chinese  town.  As  I passed  through  the  street 
there  was  a murmur  of  “Oroos,”  “Oroos,”  and  a small 
crowd  of  Turkis  and  Chinese  collected  in  the  inn  yard  to 
see  me.  My  boy  was  told  there  was  a Russian  shop  in  the 
Turk  city,  so  I went  over  there  with  a man  to  guide  me. 
We  dismounted  at  a shop,  and  I was  received  by  a fine- 
looking  man,  who  shook  hands  with  me  and  spoke  to  me 
in  Russian.  I told  him  I was  English.  He  then  took  me 
through  a courtyard  to  another  courtyard  with  a roof  of 
matting.  On  the  ground  were  spread  some  fine  carpets, 
on  which  sat  some  fair-looking  men  in  Turk  dress.  None 
of  them  looked  quite  like  Russians.  They  spoke  no 
language  that  I knew,  and  things  were  rather  at  a stand- 
still, when  I heard  the  word  “ Hindustani.”  I said  at 
once,  “Hindustani  zaban  bol  sakta”  (“I  can  speak 
Hindustani  ”),  and  they  sent  off  for  a man.  When  he 
appeared,  I had  a long  talk  with  him.  He  was  an  Afghan 
merchant,  he  said,  and  the  men  of  his  house  were  Andijani 
merchants.  He  had  travelled  through  a great  part  of 
India,  and  knew  Bombay,  Calcutta,  Delhi,  Lahore,  and 
all  the  cities  of  the  Punjab. 

He  asked  me  if  Peking  was  as  big  a town  as  Calcutta. 
I said,  “ No,  nothing  like  so  big.”  He  was  struck  at  this, 
and  told  the  Andijanis  of  it.  He  then  asked  if  I had  seen 
the  Katai-Badshah  (the  Chinese  emperor)  at  Ba-jing 
(Peking).  I said,  “No.”  He  then  asked  me  how  many 
Englishmen  there  were  at  Peking,  and  if  they  were 


1887] 


AT  TURFAN 


117 

merchants.  I said  we  had  an  Elchi  there,  like  the 
Russians,  and  the  French,  and  other  European  nations. 
Peking  is  so  distant  that  these  Central  Asiatic  merchants 
do  not  visit  it,  and  the  only  accounts  they  probably  have 
of  it  are  from  the  Chinese,  who  exaggerate  to  any  extent 
the  greatness  of  the  capital  of  China  and  its  emperor. 
I asked  the  merchant  about  the  trade  of  the  place,  and  he 
said  silk  was  the  only  thing  produced.  These  Andijani 
merchants  spin  the  silk  from  the  cocoons,  but  the  Chinese 
manufacture  it.  After  a time  some  tea  was  brought  us. 
I asked  if  it  was  Indian  or  Chinese.  They  said  it  was 
Chinese,  but  Indian  was  to  be  bought  in  the  town. 

The  Andijanis  were  tall,  handsome-looking  men,  dressed 
in  long  robes  of  cotton  print,  and  wearing  high  black 
leather  boots  with  high  heels — exactly  the  same  as  the 
Cossacks  wear,  but  the  bottom  part  was  not  attached  to 
the  upper.  It  was  a slipper  which  they  kicked  off  before 
stepping  on  to  the  carpet,  leaving  the  long  boot  still  on, 
but  with  a soft,  flexible  foot. 

After  tea  I again  went  to  the  Turk  city  to  have  a look  at 
the  shops.  The  chief — in  fact,  almost  the  only — articles 
sold  here  are  cotton  fabrics,  principally  chintz.  Some  of 
them  were  remarkably  pretty,  with  patterns  of  flowers,  and 
others  handkerchiefs  of  many  colours,  arranged  together 
in  patterns  very  tastefully. 

There  was  also  a good  deal  of  Andijani  silk  of  various 
colours.  The  silk  of  this  place  was  only  white ; I could 
find  none  coloured.  I bought  a yard,  fifteen  inches  wide, 
for  sixty  tael  cents  (about  three  shillings).  It  is  very 
coarse.  The  shops  are  open  towards  the  street,  but 
divided  from  it  by  a counter,  behind  which  stands  the 
shopman,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  shelves,  reaching 
from  floor  to  roof,  and  containing  rolls  of  cotton  fabrics 
or  silks.  These  shops  are  ten  to  twelve  feet  square,  and 
better  than  the  ordinary  shops  in  the  bazaar  of  an  Indian 
town,  but  not  so  good  as  the  Chinese  shops. 

While  walking  about  looking  at  the  shops,  I saw  a 
man  with  a different  look  from  the  Turks — more  of  the 
Hindustani  appearance  ; so  I addressed  him  in  Hindu- 


ii8  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 


stani,  and  to  my  delight  he  answered  back.  He  said  he 
was  an  Arab  Hajji  from  Mecca.  Some  Turks,  seeing  us 
standing  talking,  very  politely  asked  us  over  to  a shop 
where  there  was  a seat,  so  we  had  a long  talk.  The  Hajji 
had  travelled  through  India,  Afghanistan,  Persia,  Egypt, 
Turkey,  and  Bokhara.  I asked  him  where  he  was  going 
next.  He  said  wherever  Fate  led  him.  He  was  at  Herat 
a year  before  (1886),  and,  pointing  his  two  forefingers  at 
each  other  and  bringing  them  together  till  they  nearly 
touched,  said  that  that  was  how  the  Russians  and  English 
were  then.  Then  he  let  his  forefingers  pass  each  other, 
and,  keeping  them  parallel,  said  that  was  how  Russia  and 
England  were  now.  He  then  locked  his  two  forefingers 
together,  and  said  that  was  how  England  and  the  Amir 
of  Afghanistan  were.  He  said  that  this  was  a poor 
country — all  jungle,  no  water,  and  no  bread  ; whereas  in 
India  there  was  plenty  of  both.  I asked  about  the  tribes 
of  this  part,  and  he  said  they  were  Turks  (I  could  not 
get  a definite  name  beside  that).  At  Karashar  there  are 
Kalmaks,  and  also  in  the  mountains.  The  Kalmaks  are 
Buddhists.  He  asked  if  my  boy  was  a Tungani,  saying 
they  were  good  men,  but  the  other  Chinese  very  bad. 
(He  said  this,  of  course,  because  the  Tungans  are  Mussul- 
mans.) His  influence  seemed  to  be  very  great.  A large 
crowd  of  Turks  collected  round  us,  but  by  saying  a few 
words  he  kept  them  clear  of  me,  and  they  looked  on 
silently.  Now  and  then  he  addressed  the  crowd,  and 
explained  to  them  who  the  English  were.  I was  glad 
of  this,  as  he  seemed  to  have  a very  good  opinion  of  us. 
I heard  him  abusing  the  Chinese  in  the  most  open  way, 
as  there  were  several  Chinamen  there  (Mohammedans, 
perhaps,  though).  A man  like  that  might  do  a deal  of 
good  or  a deal  of  harm,  and  I saw  more  clearly  than 
before  the  great  influence  Mohammedanism  has  in  these 
countries,  and  how  dangerous  this  influence  may  be  on 
occasions.  The  Mahdi  was  probably  a man  very  like  this 
Arab  Hajji. 

The  owner  of  the  shop  in  which  we  were  gave  me  some 
tea,  but  I noticed  the  Arab  took  none.  Whether  he  has 


i8S7]  living  in  HOLES  UNDERGROUND  119 

caste,  as  in  India,  and  won’t  drink  with  an  infidel,  I don’t 
know.  Both  he  and  the  Afghan  came  here  from  India 
via  Peshawur,  Kabul,  and  Bokhara.  The  Arab  had  been 
to  Tashkent,  and  said  it  was  as  fine  a town  as  Bombay. 
I felt  quite  brightened  up  by  the  conversations  with  these 
men.  It  was  the  first  time  for  some  months  that  I had 
been  able  to  talk  at  all  fluently  with  any  one.  Fancy  an 
Englishman  being  so  delighted  to  meet  an  Arab  and  an 
Afghan  in  Turkestan,  and  talking  in  Hindustani  ! 

In  the  evening  I saw  two  distinguished-looking  men 
standing  about  in  the  courtyard  of  my  inn,  evidently 
wishing  to  see  me,  but  not  liking  to  intrude  themselves 
on  me  as  the  Chinese  do  ; so  I went  out  to  speak  to  them. 
They  only  spoke  Turki,  but  I was  able  to  make  out  that 
they  were  Kokhandees.  Their  country  was  Russian  now, 
they  said,  and  they  called  it  “ Ferghansky.”  I said  I was 
Angrez  (English),  but  they  said  at  once,  “Ingleesh.”  I 
got  a few  Turki  words  from  them,  and  then  they  shook 
hands  with  me  and  went  off. 

I had  read  in  some  book  that  at  Turfan  it  was  so  hot 
that  people  lived  in  holes  underground.  I never  quite 
believed  it,  but  to-day  I found  it  was  a real  fact.  Here 
in  the  inn  yard  was  a narrow  flight  of  steps  leading 
underground.  I went  down  them,  and  found  a room 
with  a kang,  and  a Chinaman  lying  on  it  smoking  opium. 
It  was  perfectly  cool  below  there,  and  there  was  no  musty 
smell,  for  the  soil  is  extremely  dry.  The  room  was  well 
ventilated  by  means  of  a hole  leading  up  through  the  roof. 

Turfan  consists  of  two  distinct  towns,  both  walled — 
the  Chinese  and  the  Turk,  the  latter  situated  about  a 
mile  west  of  the  former.  The  Turk  town  is  the  most 
populous,  having  probably  twelve  or  fifteen  thousand 
inhabitants,  while  the  Chinese  town  has  not  more  than 
five  thousand  at  the  outside. 

The  town  is  about  eight  hundred  yards  square.  As 
usual,  there  are  four  gateways  — N.,  S.,  E.,  and  W. 
These  are  of  solid  brickwork,  with  massive  wooden  doors 
plated  with  iron.  The  gateway  is  covered  by  a semi- 
circular bastion.  The  walls  are  in  good  repair.  They 


120  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

are  built  of  mud,  and  are  about  thirty-five  feet  high, 
twenty  to  thirty  feet  thick,  and  loopholed  at  the  top. 
Outside  the  main  wall  is  a level  space  fifteen  yards  wide, 
and  then  a musketry  wall  eight  feet  high,  and  immedi- 
ately beyond  it  a ditch  twelve  feet  deep  and  twenty  feet 
wide.  Over  the  gateways  are  drum  towers.  At  the 
corners  are  small,  square  towers,  and  between  the  corners 
and  the  gateways  are  small,  square  bastions,  two  to  each 
front. 

There  are  few  shops  in  the  Chinese  town,  and  those 
not  good.  Turfan  is  a “Ting”  town.  This  town  and 
its  neighbourhood  lie  at  an  extremely  low  altitude.  My 
barometer  here  read  29*48.  My  thermometer  was  broken, 
so  that  I cannot  record  the  temperature,  but  it  may  be 
taken  at  between  go°  and  100° — say  95°.  Turfan  must 
be  between  two  and  three  hundred  feet  below  the  level 
of  the  sea.*  It  is  very  remarkable  that  such  a depression 
should  occur  so  far  inland  in  the  heart  of  a continent. 

On  July  i8th  we  passed  out  of  the  Chinese  town  by 
the  west  gate  and  through  the  Turk  town,  after  which 
we  turned  off  south,  passing  over  a plain  with  a good 
deal  of  cotton  planted  on  it.  Wheat  had  now  nearly  all 
been  reaped.  The  poppy  crop  was  also  over.  At  five 
miles  we  rounded  the  end  of  a low  spur  running  down 
from  the  Tian-shan,  and  passed  over  a level  valley 
covered  with  scrub,  but  uncultivated.  A tremendous 
wind  was  blowing,  making  our  progress  very  slow,  so  we 
halted  at  ii  p.m.,  at  a solitary  inn,  sixty  li  from  Turfan. 

Next  day  we  arrived  at  Toksun,  a small  town,  or  rather 
two  small  towns,  both  walled,  each  about  a quarter  of  a 
mile  square,  and  half  a mile  apart.  Here  as  at  Turfan 
grapes  and  melons  were  very  plentiful,  and  nearly  equal 
to  those  grown  in  English  hothouses.  The  grapes  were 
large,  very  fleshy,  and  full  of  flavour. 

The  cultivation  lasted  for  a mile,  and  then  gave  place 
to  scrub,  which  three  miles  further  ceased,  and  we 
ascended  the  bare,  gravelly  slope  of  a range  to  the 

* This  depression  was  also  noticed  by  Colonel  Bell  before  my  visit,  and 
its  existence  has  since  been  confirmed  by  Russian  travellers. 


HARD  WORK 


121 


18S7] 

south.  The  gravel  was  mixed  with  sand,  and  loose,  so 
the  going  was  very  heavy,  and  we  got  along  slowly. 
Here,  as  at  all  the  difficult  pieces  along  the  road,  skeletons 
of  horses  were  numerous,  and  we  also  passed  two  human 
skeletons.  At  sixteen  miles  from  Toksun,  we  entered  the 
hills,  perfectly  bare,  as  usual,  and  four  miles  further 
halted  at  an  inn  on  a small  stream. 

We  had  a very  long,  hard  day’s  work  on  the  20th, 
ascending  the  bed  of  a stream  covered  with  loose  shingle. 
We  got  the  cart  along  by  a succession  of  rushes — the 
carter  on  one  side  and  the  boy  on  the  other,  urging  the 
animals  for  a short  time,  then  stopping,  then  making 
another  spurt,  and  so  on.  We  should  have  thought 
nothing  of  this  in  Manchuria,  but  there  the  mules  had 
less  to  pull.  The  stream,  like  others  in  these  mountains, 
has  a peculiar  course.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  gorge  no 
stream  was  visible.  As  we  ascended,  a small  trickle 
appeared,  which  gradually  increased  in  size  to  a small 
stream,  and  then  suddenly  disappeared  again  beneath 
the  gravel.  We  halted  for  a couple  of  hours  where  it 
was  last  visible,  twelve  miles  from  the  inn,  and  fed  the 
animals.  In  the  afternoon  we  had  the  same  hard  pull  up 
the  gorge.  On  either  hand  were  bare,  precipitous  hills, 
eighteen  hundred  or  two  thousand  feet  high. 

We  halted  at  6 p.m.,  at  a spring  of  clear  cold  water 
at  the  base  of  a cliff.  It  came  on  to  rain  heavily  later, 
but  I was  snug  inside  the  cart,  the  boy  slept  underneath 
it,  and  the  carter  in  a hollow  of  the  cliff.  One  can  make 
one’s  self  very  comfortable  in  the  cart,  with  a mattress 
spread  over  the  baggage  and  a waterproof  sheet  hung 
across  the  front. 

The  following  day’s  work  was  even  stiffer  still.  A 
landslip  had  fallen  right  across  the  stream,  which  was 
blocked  by  huge  boulders.  We  unloaded  the  cart,  and 
put  the  baggage  on  the  mules’  backs  and  took  it  across 
to  the  other  side.  This  they  did  in  two  or  three  trips, 
and  then  returned  for  the  empty  cart,  which  the  two 
mules,  two  ponies,  and  two  men  managed  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  to  get  over  the  boulders.  The  cart 


122  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 


was  then  reloaded,  and  we  set  off  again,  ploughing 
through  the  shingle,  but  not  for  long,  for  another  land- 
slip blocked  the  way,  and  the  cart  had  to  be  unloaded 
again.  We  finally  reached  an  inn,  only  one  and  a half 
miles  from  our  camping-place,  in  seven  and  a half  hours. 

There  is  little  of  interest  to  record  for  the  next  few 
marches,  but  on  the  23rd  we  crossed  a small  river,  broad 
and  shallow,  running  over  a pebbly  bed.  This  was  the 
first  stream  of  any  size  which  I had  crossed  for  nearly 
two  thousand  miles.  At  ten  miles  further  we  crossed 
another  small  river.  These  run  down  from  the  moun- 
tains four  or  five  miles  to  the  north,  emptying  themselves 
into  a lake  to  the  south.  We  then  entered  a country 
thickly  covered  with  trees,  like  a park,  with  long  coai'se 
grass  in  tufts,  and  many  small  streams.  The  rainfall 
here  must  be  considerably  more  than  further  east.  The 
soil  was  sandy  and  apparently  not  worth  cultivating,  as 
we  only  passed  one  small  hamlet,  but  we  crossed  yet 
another  stream,  four  feet  deep,  which  nearly  covered 
the  mules  and  flooded  the  bottom  of  the  cart. 

Weather  fine,  and  cool  in  evening. 

Rain  began  to  fall  as  we  started  on  the  24th,  and  we 
had  a wet  march  to  Karashar,  over  a moorland  covered 
with  bushes  and  some  trees,  which  looked  like  elms. 
The  country  was  almost  uninhabited,  though  water  was 
plentiful.  It  was  not  till  within  two  miles  of  Karashar 
that  we  passed  a small  hamlet.  We  entered  Karashar  at 
2.30  p.m.,  by  the  eastern  gate,  passing  out  again  at  the 
southern,  and  putting  up  at  an  inn  close  by. 

The  town  of  Karashar,  like  all  towns  thereabouts,  was 
surrounded  by  a mud  wall,  and  the  gateways  were  sur- 
mounted by  the  usual  pagoda-shaped  towers.  There  was 
a musketry  wall  running  round  outside  the  main  wall, 
but  it  was  almost  in  ruins.  Inside  the  wall  were  some 
yamens,  but  only  a few  houses.  Outside,  to  the  south, 
were  a few  shops  and  inns. 

I had  a conversation  with  some  Tunganis  who  came  to 
see  me.  They  said  the  population  of  the  place  was 
almost  entirely  Tungani  and  Turks.  In  the  mountains 


OF  VARIOUS  PEOPLES 


123 


1887] 

round  were  Kalmaks  and  Khirgiz.  These  Tunganis 
(they  called  themselves  Tungani  without  my  asking  who 
they  were)  were  not  distinguishable  in  features  from 
ordinary  Chinamen,  but  they  seemed  cleaner  and  more 
respectable  than  the  Chinese  about  there,  who  appeared 
to  be  the  scum  of  the  central  provinces  of  China  proper. 

We  had  to  make  a half-halt  on  the  25th,  to  dry  things 
which  had  been  wetted  in  the  river.  I went  for  a stroll 
round  the  place.  Outside  of  the  walled  city  there  were 
two  streets  running  down  to  the  river,  which  was  rather 
more  than  half  a mile  from  the  walls  ; the  northern  street 
had  most  shops,  but  they  were  poor.  Near  the  river  were 
some  encampments  of  Kalmaks.  They  were  regular 
Mongols,  living  in  yurts  and  dressed  as  other  Mongols, 
and  wearing  pigtails,  the  round  coloured  caps  with  a tassel, 
and  long  coats.  They  were  easily  distinguishable  from 
both  Chinese  and  Turks.  I questioned  several  people 
about  the  different  races  of  this  part  of  Turkestan,  and 
was  told  that  there  were  three  different  races — the  Kitai 
(Chinese),  Tungani,  and  Turks,  and  here  at  Karashar 
were  a few  Kalmaks.  The  Turks  do  not  appear  to  be 
divided  into  tribes,  but  are  called  by  the  town  they 
belong  to.  The  Chinese  call  them  Chan-teu  (turban- 
wearers).  One  Turk,  with  whom  I was  trying  to  con- 
verse, took  me  off  to  a shop  where  there  was  a man  who 
had  been  on  a pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  and  had  seen 
Lahore,  Bombay,  Suez,  and  Constantinople.  He  only 
spoke  Persian,  unfortunately.  It  is  wonderful  the  dis- 
tances these  pilgrims  travel.  I could  find  no  Hindustani- 
speaking men  in  Karashar. 

I had  told  the  innkeeper  to  look  out  for  a good  pony 
for  me,  and  two  were  brought  up  for  inspection.  I 
bought  one  for  twenty  taels  (£5),  a good  weight-carrying 
cob,  short  back  and  legs,  enormous  quarters,  but  with 
much  pleasanter  paces  than  his  looks  would  warrant.  I 
thought  he  ought  to  carry  me  to  India  well. 

We  started  at  4.10  p.m.,  and  had  to  cross  the  river  by 
ferry  at  the  end  of  the  town.  The  river  was  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  yards  wide,  and  three  to  four  feet  deep. 


124  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 


running  through  a level  country,  which  would  be  flooded 
out  if  the  river  rose  another  couple  of  feet.  The  boat, 
which  just  held  our  cart  and  my  two  ponies,  was  poled 
across  by  three  Kalmaks.  On  the  other  side  we  found 
a party  of  Kalmaks,  riding  donkeys,  waiting  to  be  ferried 
over.  They  were  escorting  a Mongol  lady,  the  wife  of 
one  of  their  chiefs,  back  to  her  husband  ; she  had  been 
captured  in  some  raid,  and  was  now  returning.  She  was 
very  strong  and  robust-looking,  and  had  the  whole  party 
under  her  thumb  ; and  was  abusing  them  right  and  left, 
because  she  had  just  got  a wetting  in  a branch  of  the 
river  they  had  crossed.  She  bustled  about,  unsaddling 
her  donkey  and  turning  it  off  to  graze,  and  ordered  the 
rest  about,  here,  there,  and  everywhere. 

At  a hundred  yards  after  leaving  the  ferry  we  had  to 
ford  a branch  of  the  river,  some  thirty  yards  broad,  and 
deep  enough  in  places  to  wet  the  inside  of  the  cart  again. 
After  this  we  passed  over  a swamp,  and  three  times  our 
cart  stuck.  The  first  time  we  were  three  hours  trying  to 
get  it  out  of  the  mud,  and  it  was  not  till  we  had  taken 
everything  out  of  the  cart,  and  engaged  some  Turks  to 
help  shove  and  pull,  that  we  succeeded  in  doing  so.  We 
then  got  along  all  right  for  a couple  of  miles,  when  we 
stuck  again,  and  a second  time  had  to  unload  everything. 
We  then  got  clear  of  the  swamp,  but  stuck  a third  time 
in  a deep  rut ! The  animals  were  so  exhausted,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  get  on  that  night,  as  it  was  one  o’clock, 
and  we  went  off  to  the  house  of  one  of  the  Turks  who 
were  helping  us,  leaving  the  boy  in  the  cart.  The  Turk 
showed  us  into  a most  comfortable  room,  made  of  mud 
only,  but  looking  clean  for  all  that.  A kind  of  dado  of 
chintz  had  been  arranged  round  the  walls,  which 
brightened  up  the  place.  On  the  kang,  piles  of  felts 
and  bedding  were  rolled  up.  There  were  two  fireplaces 
in  the  room,  but  no  chimney,  the  smoke  going  out 
through  a hole  in  the  roof.  All  sorts  of  household 
utensils  were  hung  round  the  walls,  and  some  mutton 
and  herbs  were  hanging  from  a rafter.  Everything  was 
clean  and  neatly  arranged,  and  there  was  no  smell.  It 


A HOSPITABLE  TURK 


125 


1887] 

was  a far  superior  room  to  those  which  are  inhabited  by 
the  same  class  of  men  in  an  Indian  village.  My  host 
bustled  about  to  get  some  bedding  ready  for  me,  and 
brought  me  some  tea,  after  which  I turned  in  sharp,  as 
I was  very  tired. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  cart  was  got  out  of  the  rut. 
I gave  twenty-five  cents  to  each  of  the  five  men  who  had 
helped  us,  and  presented  my  host  with  some  tea,  sugar, 
candles,  and  matches.  He  was  delighted,  and  salaamed 
profusely  ; the  old  lady  of  the  house  bowed  very  grace- 
fully to  me,  too,  as  the  things  were  brought  into  the 
house.  They  insisted  upon  my  having  some  tea,  and 
the  lady  produced  a tray  with  some  tea,  bread,  and 
flowers.  The  Turk  then  told  me  that  another  English- 
man had  also  put  up  at  this  house  a short  time  ago. 
After  leaving  the  house  the  road  led  over  a sandy  plain 
covered  with  little  bushes. 

At  sunset  the  mosquitoes  came  in  swarms  ; and  though 
we  lighted  four  fires  to  smoke  them  off,  it  had  no  effect. 
We  were  to  start  at  i a.m.,  and  I lay  down  between  the 
fires,  but  could  not  get  a wink  of  sleep — rather  hard  luck 
after  having  been  up  till  one  the  night  before. 

On  July  27  we  descended  gradually  to  Korlia.  The 
view  of  the  town  from  the  hill  was  very  pretty.  The 
whole  plain  below,  along  the  river-bank,  was  covered  with 
trees  and  cultivated  fields,  amongst  which  could  be  seen 
the  walls  of  Korlia.  There  was  a greater  extent  of  culti- 
vated land  here  than  in  any  other  town  we  had  passed. 
Korlia  has  two  towns,  the  Chinese  and  the  Turk.  The 
Chinese  is  only  some  four  hundred  yards  square,  sur- 
rounded by  a mud  wall  some  thirty-five  feet  in  height, 
and  by  a ditch.  There  are  round  bastions  at  the  angles, 
but  no  bastion  at  the  gateway.  The  entrance  is  on  the 
south  side  only.  One  mile  south  is  the  Turk  town, 
washed  on  its  northern  face  by  the  river,  which  is  crossed 
by  a wooden  bridge.  The  walls  of  the  Turk  town  are  in 
ruins.  The  town  has  one  principal  street  running  north 
and  south,  about  seven  hundred  yards  long.  The  shops 
are  somewhat  better  than  at  Karashar,  but  not  so  good  as 


126  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

at  Turfan.  The  people  here  seemed  prosperous,  and  the 
country  round  was  well  cultivated.  Wheat  was  just 
being  reaped,  maize  was  grown  in  large  quantities,  and 
rice  was  also  cultivated. 

Leaving  the  beautiful  cultivated  land  we  again  struck 
the  surrounding  desert,  and  at  twenty-five  miles  entered 
a country  covered  with  trees,  but  with  not  much  under- 
growth. So  we  journey,  passing  alternately  through 
cultivated  lands,  over  arid  desert,  or  through  brushwood 
and  jungle.  On  July  29  we  reached  the  considerable 
oasis  of  Yang-sar  and  the  next  day  the  large  village  of 
Bu-yur. 

The  inn  was  full  of  soldiers  returning  to  their  homes. 
My  boy,  and,  in  fact,  everybody,  has  a dread  of  soldiers, 
who  have  the  reputation  of  stealing  everything  they  can 
lay  their  hands  on.  When  a crowd  collects  round  my 
room  or  the  cart,  and  he  hears  that  there  are  soldiers 
among  them,  Liu-san  shouts  out  to  me  in  English, 
“ Master  ! look  out ! Soldier  man  plenty  steal ! ” 

On  August  2 we  arrived  at  the  Kuche  oasis,  and  for 
three  miles  passed  through  a country  covered  with  trees 
and  houses.  The  road  also  was  lined  with  trees,  and  a 
good  many  houses,  before  we  reached  the  actual  town. 
The  number  of  trees  is  very  noticeable,  and  on  the  road- 
side the  houses  were  actually  built  on  to  the  trees. 

We  drove  into  an  inn  yard,  but  found  there  was  no 
room  ; and  were  told  that  a batch  of  soldiers  was  passing 
through,  so  all  the  inns  had  closed  their  doors.  The 
gallant  defenders  of  their  country  are  not  held  in  much 
esteem  by  their  fellow-countrymen.  After  waiting  for 
half  an  hour  in  the  cart,  the  landlord  made  arrangements 
for  a room  for  me. 

A Turk  who  spoke  Hindustani  now  appeared.  He  was 
a Hajji,  and  had  spent  ten  years  in  India,  horse-dealing. 
He  was  very  friendly,  and  asked  if  he  could  be  of  any 
service.  I said  I wanted  a Turk  servant  to  go  to  India 
with  me,  and  also  wanted  to  buy  a good  pony.  He  went 
off,  saying  there  were  plenty  of  both,  and  soon  the  inn 
yard  was  full  of  ponies.  He  was  a regular  Indian  horse- 


BUYING  A PONY 


127 


1887] 

dealer,  and  I laughed  when  he  began  with  the  usual 
“Sahib,  ham  juth  ne  bolenge”  (“I  will  not  tell  a lie,”) 
“dam  assi  rupiye  ” (“the  price  is  eighty  rupees”).  I told 
him  I never  told  lies  either,  and  what  I would  give  was 
twenty  taels  (he  reckoned  eighty  rupees  at  thirty  taels). 
All  sorts  of  ponies  appeared,  and  I rode  between  twenty 
and  thirty  up  and  down  the  main  street,  which  was  the 
only  place  handy  for  trying  them.  They  were  asking 
about  three  times  the  price  usually  given  for  ponies  in 
these  parts,  so  I only  selected  one,  which  I bought  for 
twenty-five  taels  (£5).  It  was  about  the  lowest-priced 
pony  they  brought,  but  they  were  going  by  a different 
standard  from  mine,  for  size  and  weight-carrying  capacity  is 
what  they  value.  The  Hajji  was  very  keen  upon  my  buy- 
ing a two-year-old  pony  marked  with  black  spots  all  over. 

I said  it  was  too  young.  “Not  at  all,”  he  said.  “He 
will  be  three  or  four  years  old  by  the  time  you  get  to 
India.”  This  after  he  had  told  me  I could  get  there  in  two 
months ! Two  Afghans  also,  who  had  lived  here  for 
twenty  years,  visited  me.  I asked  them  if  they  were  here 
in  Yakoob  Beg’s  time.  They  said,  “Yes;  that  was  a 
good  time  then.”  The  Afghans  spoke  of  the  conduct  of 
the  Chinese  as  very  zabardast  (oppressive),  and  said  the 
Turks  were  like  sheep  in  submitting  to  it.  One  of  the 
Afghans  had  known  Sir  Douglas  Forsyth,  and  had  heard 
of  his  death. 

The  Turk  Kotwal  came  to  see  me,  to  report  to  the 
Chinese  who  I was,  and  what  I was  doing.  He  was  the 
most  good-natured  old  gentleman,  and  took  down  my 
answer  as  if  it  were  a most  unnecessary  business  to  satisfy 
Chinese  curiosity.  I said  I was  returning  to  India,  where 
I lived.  Kuche  town  and  district  has,  probably,  sixty 
thousand  inhabitants.  The  Hajji  told  me  that  numbers  of 
people  went  up  into  the  hills  during  the  hot  weather.  The 
Chinese  town  is  some  seven  hundred  yards  square,  with  a 
wall  twenty-five  feet  high,  with  no  bastions,  and  no  pro- 
tection to  the  gateways  but  a ditch  some  twenty  feet  deep. 
The  interior  is  filled  with  houses,  and  has  a few  bad 
shops.  The  houses  of  the  Turk  city  run  right  up  to  the 


128  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 


ditch.  About  eight  hundred  yards  north  of  the  Chinese 
city  were  barracks  for  five  hundred  men  ; I estimated  the 
whole  garrison  at  one  thousand  five  hundred  ; they  were 
armed  with  old  Enfield  rifles,  with  the  Tower  mark. 
There  were  remains  of  the  walls  of  the  old  Turk  city 
south-east  of  the  Chinese,  but  the  greater  number  of 
houses  and  all  the  shops  were  outside  of  this.  The  shops 
were  small,  like  those  in  India,  and  nothing  of  native 
manufacture  was  sold,  excepting  sheepskins,  which  are 
very  cheap.  My  boy  bought  two  for  his  parents  at  seven 
taels  each ; he  said  in  Peking  they  would  cost  twelve 
or  fifteen  taels.  I also  bought  one.  Silks  and  cotton 
goods  come  from  Andijan,  Russia,  and  China. 

At  7.30  p.m.  we  started  again,  passing  through  the 
Chinese  city,  and  afterwards  through  a well-cultivated 
country  for  three  miles,  when  the  desert  began  again. 
We  now  gradually  ascended  towards  a range  of  hills, 
up  the  bed  of  a stream,  and  halted  at  3 a.m.  at  an  inn, 
without  anybody  in  charge,  near  a small  spring. 

As  we  neared  Bai  on  the  4th,  the  country  was  level  and 
watered  by  numerous  streams  running  down  from  the 
mountains.  The  road  was  lined  with  trees  the  whole 
way,  and  the  country  looked  extremely  pretty  with  the 
snowy  mountains  in  the  background.  Wheat,  oats,  and 
maize  were  the  chief  crops.  Reaping  was  just  beginning. 
A noticeable  thing  in  this  country  was  the  absence  of  local 
carts.  They  were  not  used  at  all  for  farm  purposes  or  for 
carrying  country  produce  into  town.  Donkeys  only  were 
used  for  this,  and  one  only  saw  a few  travelling  carts  used 
for  long  journeys.  Bai  was  a poor  place,  built  on  the 
right  bank  of  a small  river.  It  contained,  perhaps,  three 
thousand  inhabitants,  but  the  districts  round  were  very 
populous,  the  cultivated  land  extending  eight  or  ten  miles 
to  the  north,  and  five  or  six  miles  to  the  south.  Three- 
quarters  of  a mile  from  the  river-bank,  and  separated  from 
the  town,  are  two  square  fort-like  looking  places,  which  I 
was  informed  were  mandarins’  quarters,  and  not  barracks. 
There  was  a large  yamen  just  outside  the  west  side  of  the 
town,  which  was  not  surrounded  by  a wall. 


1887]  WHITE  CAMELS  FOR  THE  ZOO 


129 


On  August  7 we  arrived  at  Aksu,  the  largest  town  we 
had  yet  seen.  It  had  a garrison  of  two  thousand  soldiers, 
and  a native  population  of  about  twenty  thousand,  beside 
the  inhabitants  of  the  surrounding  district.  There  were 
large  bazaars  and  several  inns — some  for  travellers,  others 
for  merchants  wishing  to  make  a prolonged  stay  to  sell 
goods.  A man  will  bring  goods  from  some  distance, 
engage  a room  in  one  of  these  inns  or  serais^  and  remain 
there  for  some  months,  or  even  a year  or  two,  till  he  has 
sold  his  goods.  He  will  then  buy  up  a new  stock,  and 
start  off  to  another  town.  It  is  in  these  serais  that  one 
meets  the  typical  travelling  merchant  of  Central  Asia  ; 
and  often  have  I envied  these  men  their  free,  independent, 
wandering  life,  interspersed  with  enough  of  hardships,  of 
travel,  and  risks  in  strange  countries  to  give  it  a relish. 
They  are  always  interesting  to  talk  to  : intelligent,  shrewd, 
full  of  information.  Naturally  they  are  well-disposed  to 
Englishmen,  on  account  of  the  encouragement  we  give  to 
trade ; but  they  are  very  cosmopolitan,  and  do  not  really 
belong  to  any  country  except  that  in  which  they  are  at 
the  time  living.  And  this  habit  of  rubbing  up  against 
men  of  so  many  different  countries  gives  them  a quiet, 
even  temperament  and  a breadth  of  idea  which  make  them 
very  charming  company. 

I engaged  one  of  these  men,  Rahmat-ula-Khan  by 
name,  a native  of  the  Pathan  state  of  Bajaur,  to  accom- 
pany me  to  Kashgar,  by  Ush  Turfan,  while  my  cart  went 
by  Maral-bashi,  He  was  a good  specimen  of  his  class, 
and  full  of  adventurous  projects.  His  great  ambition  was 
to  visit  England,  but  as  he  wanted  to  do  so  by  land  and 
not  by  sea,  which  he  was  afraid  of,  he  wished  to  know 
how  he  could  work  his  way  there  ; and  said  he  had  often 
thought  of  taking  over  some  white  camels,  which  another 
merchant  had  told  him  could  be  obtained  on  the  borders 
of  the  desert.  On  my  questioning  him  about  these  camels, 
he  said  he  was  not  sure  that  they  were  actually  white, 
but  they  were  of  a very  light  colour,  and  quite  peculiar 
animals,  which  would  make  a sensation  in  the  Zoo.  He 
asked  me,  however,  whether  I had  any  better  suggestions 

K 


130  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 


to  make  as  to  how  he  could  make  a journey  to  England 
pay.  I told  him  that  if  he  would  search  about  among 
the  old  ruined  cities  of  this  country  and  those  buried  by 
the  sand,  he  might  find  old  ornaments  and  books  for 
which  large  sums  of  money  would  be  given  him  in 
England,  and  before  he  left  me  I wrote  for  him  letters  to 
the  directors  of  the  British  Museum,  and  of  the  museums 
at  Bombay  and  Calcutta. 

Under  the  guidance  of  this  man,  I left  Aksu  on 
August  lo.  I rode  one  pony  myself,  and  another  was 
ridden  by  the  Turki  servant,  and  a third,  carrying  all  the 
baggage  we  took  with  us,  was  led  by  him.  In  this  way 
we  could  travel  fast,  and  make  long  marches.  Several 
of  the  merchants  from  India  accompanied  us  for  the  first 
half  of  the  march,  and  provided  a lunch  in  a garden 
under  the  shade  of  fruit  trees.  Here  it  was  very  cool  and 
pleasant,  and  the  merchants  very  cheery  and  companion- 
able. The  country,  for  several  miles  beyond  Aksu,  was 
well  cultivated,  and  the  road  good.  We  crossed  the  Aksu 
river,  divided  into  many  branches,  a mile  wide  in  all,  the 
water  in  the  deep  channels  being  waist-deep.  Further 
on  we  passed  the  small  village  of  Aral,  and  the  next  day 
arrived  at  Ush  Turfan. 

This  is  a picturesque  little  town  at  the  foot  of  a rugged 
hill,  with  a fort  on  its  summit.  There  is  a good  bazaar 
here,  and  I met  in  it  an  old  man  who  had  been  one  of 
Yakoob  Beg’s  chief  secretaries,  but  was  now  in  very  poor 
circumstances.  He  could  only  mumble  away  rather  in- 
distinctly, but  when  he  saw  me  he  uttered  the  word 
“ Shaw,”  and  I immediately  asked  the  people  to  question 
him,  and  found  out  that  he  had  had  a great  deal  to  do 
with  my  uncle,  and  had  a great  regard  for  him.  I was 
getting  now,  in  fact,  into  country  where  people  were  con- 
stantly met  with  who  knew  Shaw  and  the  members  of 
the  Forsyth  Mission,  and  the  interest  of  the  journey 
increased.  In  Central  Asia  changes  oi personnel  are  sharp 
and  radical.  One  year  Yakoob  Beg  is  unknown  ; the 
next  he  rules  a vast  country,  and  is  surrounded  by 
courtiers  and  great  officers  of  state.  For  a short  time 


FOUR  VERY  OLD  LADIES 


1887] 


13 1 


they  remain  in  power,  and  then  they  are  swept  clean 
away,  and  Chinese  rule  in  their  place.  Of  the  men  who 
were  all-powerful  at  the  time  of  Sir  Douglas  Forsyth’s 
Mission,  and  Shaw’s  last  journey  in  the  country,  only 
eleven  years  before  my  visit,  but  very  few  remained,  and 
those  in  the  poorest  circumstances.  But  it  was  interest- 
ing to  meet  them,  and  get  them  to  talk  of  better  days, 
and  the  state  and  grandeur  which  they  had  known. 

After  leaving  Ush  Turfan,  we  passed  through  a country 
cultivated  at  first,  but  afterwards  relapsing  into  the  more 
or  less  barren  condition  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
district.  The  sides  of  the  hills  which  bounded  the  valley 
we  were  ascending  were  not,  however,  so  utterly  barren 
as  many  we  had  passed.  There  was  a good  deal  of  scrub 
and  small  bushes  on  them,  and,  higher  up,  fine  grassy 
slopes  in  places.  At  the  end  of  the  march  we  reached 
a Kirghiz  encampment  of  twenty-two  tents.  Here  were 
the  first  Kirghiz  I had  met ; but  most  of  the  men  were 
with  their  flocks  and  herds,  higher  up  on  the  mountain- 
sides, and  it  was  only  the  very  old  and  the  very  young 
that  were  left  down  below  with  what  might  be  called  the 
heavy  camp  equipage.  Having  no  tent  of  my  own,  and 
there  being  no  public  inn,  I was  obliged  to  do  as  the 
people  of  the  country  do,  and  seek  the  hospitality  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  tents.  This  was,  as  usual,  readily 
given.  We  rode  up  to  a tent,  and  Rahmat-ula-Khan 
went  in,  said  we  were  travelling  to  Kashgar,  and  asked 
for  accommodation  for  the  night.  In  this  way  I found 
myself  quartered  in  a tent  with  four  very  old  ladies,  one 
of  whom  was  a great-grandmother,  and  the  youngest  a 
grandmother.  They  were  very  hospitable  old  ladies,  and 
we  took  a mutual  interest  in  each  other.  The  tent  was 
similar  in  construction  to  the  yurts  of  the  Mongols,  but 
these  Kirghiz  seemed  much  better  off  than  any  of  the 
Mongols  I had  met,  or  than  the  Kirghiz  I afterwards  saw 
on  the  Pamirs.  They  were  well  clothed  in  long,  loose 
robes  of  stout  cotton  cloth — generally  striped — of  Russian 
manufacture.  Round  the  tents  were  piles  of  clothes  and 
bedding  for  the  winter — good  stout  felts  and  warm  quilts  ; 


132  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

and  rows  of  boxes  to  contain  the  household  goods  and 
treasures.  A small  portion  of  the  tent  was  always  par- 
titioned off,  and  there  were  kept  all  the  supplies  of  milk, 
cream,  and  curds,  which  form  the  staple  food  of  the 
Kirghiz.  On  the  whole,  the  tents  were  very  clean  and 
comfortable,  and  by  living  en  famille  with  these  Kirghiz, 
I got  to  see  a great  deal  more  of  their  customs  and  habits 
than  I otherwise  should  have  done. 

Meanwhile,  while  I was  looking  round  the  tent,  my 
hostesses  were  examining  all  my  kit,  and  showing  great 
interest  in  it.  I had  to  take  off  my  boots  and  socks,  and 
it  so  happened  that  my  socks  had  holes.  This  imme- 
diately appealed  to  the  feminine  instinct ; they  were 
whisked  away,  and  one  of  the  old  ladies  proceeded  care- 
fully to  mend  them.  Good  old  soul,  it  quite  reminded 
one  of  more  homelike  times  to  be  looked  :„fter  in  this 
way  ! After  mending  the  socks,  the  lady  said  her  prayers, 
and  throughout  the  time  I was  with  them  one  or  other  of 
the  old  ladies  always  appeared  to  be  praying. 

In  the  evening  all  the  cows  and  sheep  and  goats — 
mostly  those  with  young  ones — which  had  been  left  in  the 
encampment,  were  collected  and  milked,  and  one  or  two 
young  kids  brought  into  the  tent  to  be  better  looked  after. 
The  milk  was  very  rich  in  cream,  and  delicious  to  drink. 
But  the  Kirghiz  drink  whey  mostly,  and  they  have  a 
method  of  rolling  the  nearly  solidified  curds  into  balls 
about  the  size  of  a man’s  fist,  and  drying  these  balls  in 
the  sun  to  keep  for  the  winter  or  for  a journey.  Balls  of 
curds  like  these  are  not  very  appetising,  but  they  are  much 
consumed  by  the  Kirghiz.  All  the  bowls  for  collecting 
the  milk  are  of  wood,  and  by  no  means  so  cleanly  kept 
as  one  would  like  to  see  ; I doubt,  in  fact,  if  they  are  ever 
thoroughly  cleaned.  The  milk  of  one  day  is  poured  out, 
and  that  of  the  next  poured  in,  and  so  on  for  month  after 
month.  Still,  the  milk  always  seems  fresh  and  good, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  luxuries  which  form  the  reward  for 
travelling  among  the  Kirghiz. 

The  proprietresses  of  the  tent  I was  in  had  their  dinner 
of  curds  and  milk  and  a little  bread,  and  then,  as  it  grew 


A VALLEY  OF  POPPIES 


133 


1887] 

dark,  they  said  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed.  They  first  said 
their  prayers,  then  took  down  one  of  the  piles  of  bedding 
(bedsteads  were,  of  course,  unknown),  and  insisted  on 
making  up  a bed  of  quilts  and  felts  for  me  ; and  then, 
having  made  up  their  own  also,  and  pulled  a felt  over 
the  hole  in  the  roof  in  case  it  might  rain  during  the  night, 
took  themselves  to  their  beds,  and  we  all  slept  comfortably 
till  morning. 

On  the  following  day  we  continued  up  the  valley,  and 
every  few  miles  passed  a small  encampment  of  Kirghiz. 
We  were,  in  fact,  regularly  in  the  Kirghiz  preserves. 
The  nomads  are  not  cultivators,  as  a rule,  but  we  passed 
a few  patches  of  cultivation,  and  what  was  very  remark- 
able was  that  this  cultivation  was  very  often — generally 
indeed  in  this  valley — of  poppies.  On  inquiry,  I found 
that,  though  the  Kirghiz  do  not  smoke  opium  themselves, 
they  find  poppies  a most  paying  crop  to  grow,  and  can 
sell  the  produce  much  more  profitably  than  that  of  any 
other  crop. 

On  August  14,  after  passing  through  a camping-ground 
called  Sontash,  we  put  up  for  the  night  at  another  named 
Ak-chak,  and  on  the  following  day  crossed  the  Kara-kara 
Pass,  entered  a rather  bare  plain  sloping  westward,  and 
about  fifteen  miles  beyond  the  first  pass  crossed  a second. 
We  were  now  in  what  is  known  as  the  Syrt  country. 
There  was  no  particular  road,  but  the  tracks  of  animals 
leading  in  many  directions.  We  had  brought  a Kirghiz 
with  us  to  show  us  the  way,  but  he  now  refused  to  do  so, 
and  eventually  left  us  stranded  in  the  midst  of  a series  of 
bare,  low  hills  and  sterile  plains,  without  apparently  any 
water,  or  any  inhabitants,  or  any  special  road.  We  knew, 
too,  that  what  people  we  should  meet  had  not  a good 
reputation,  and  were  said  to  rob  and  murder  travellers 
occasionally,  and  matters  looked  unpleasant.  We  pushed 
on,  however,  in  the  general  direction  of  Kashgar,  and 
towards  evening,  after  a very  hard  march,  reached  an  en- 
campment of  six  tents.  The  owner  of  the  one  we  applied 
to  was  very  surly,  but  eventually  agreed  to  give  us  accom- 
modation for  the  night.  As  we  entered  the  tent,  I was 


134  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 


startled  on  seeing  a huge,  fierce-looking  eagle  tied  by  the 
leg  just  at  the  door.  From  all  appearances,  it  would 
require  very  little  provocation  to  cause  it  to  fly  at  me,  and 
I was  relieved  when  I found  myself  safely  past  it.  It  was 
one  of  the  eagles  which  the  people  of  the  part  keep  for 
hawking  purposes,  and  with  these  they  secure  even  small 
deer.  I never  saw  them  at  this  sport,  but  I recollect  some 
years  afterwards,  on  the  Pamirs,  seeing  a Kirghiz  catch 
an  eagle  for  this  purpose  by  riding  it  down.  When  I first 
saw  the  man  starting  off  to  gallop  down  an  eagle,  I 
thought  he  must  be  mad.  We  had  seen  two  eagles  on  the 
ground  in  the  distance,  and  as  soon  as  the  Kirghiz  caught 
sight  of  them  he  set  off  wildly  after  them.  They,  of 
course,  rose  on  seeing  him,  but  he  went  careering  down 
the  valley  after  one  of  them  till  gradually  the  bird  sank 
down  to  the  ground.  It  was,  in  fact,  gorged  with  the 
flesh  of  the  carcass  it  had  been  feeding  on,  and  could  no 
longer  fly.  The  Kirghiz  dismounted,  seized  hold  of  the 
bird,  bound  his  waistcloth  round  and  round  the  body  and 
wings  till  he  had  made  it  up  into  a neat  parcel,  and  then 
tucked  it  under  his  arm,  mounted,  and  rode  back  to  me. 
He  said  that,  if  it  turned  out  to  be  a good  one  for  hawk- 
ing, he  might  get  two  hundred  rupees  for  it.  I questioned 
the  owner  of  the  eagle  in  the  tent  in  which  we  were  now 
staying  about  the  training  of  these  eagles,  but  he  was  too 
surly  to  give  me  any  satisfactory  answers,  and  it  was  with 
no  very  grateful  feelings  towards  him  that  we  left  his 
camp  on  the  following  morning. 

We  travelled  hard  all  day,  and,  at  the  end  of  a march  of 
forty-six  miles,  over  a country  mostly  composed  of  bare 
hills  and  gravel  plains,  but  with  occasional  clumps  of 
trees  in  the  hollows,  we  reached  a wide  plain  of  light  clay, 
in  the  middle  of  which  we  found  a very  large  encampment 
of  fully  a hundred  tents.  But  the  inhabitants  were  far 
from  friendly,  and  it  was  only  with  considerable  difficulty 
that  a man  was  found  who  was  willing  to  put  us  up. 
Rahmat-ula-Khan  was  very  tactful  and  persuasive,  but  he 
told  me  that  night  that  the  people  were  very  badly  dis- 
posed towards  us,  and  advised  me  to  be  watchful. 


1887]  OBSTRUCTION  AND  PERSUASION 


135 


Next  morning  matters  were  worse.  As  I mounted  to 
ride  away,  crowds  of  these  rough  Kirghiz  collected  round 
me,  gesticulating  wildly.  I asked  Rahmat-ula-Khan  what 
was  the  matter,  and  he  said  that  they  had  determined  not 
to  let  me  through  their  country.  They  argued  that  no 
European  had  been  through  before  (though  this  was  not 
true,  as  a party  of  British  officers  from  Sir  Douglas 
Forsyth’s  Mission  came  into  their  country  as  far  as  the 
Below-ti  Pass),  and  that  they  did  not  see  any  reason  why 
I should  be  allowed  to.  Some  of  the  more  excited  were 
for  resorting  to  violent  measures,  but  Rahmat-ula-Khan, 
who  all  the  time  was  keeping  very  quiet  and  even  smiling, 
talked  and  reasoned  with  them,  while  I sat  on  my  pony 
and  looked  on,  well  knowing  that  the  Pathan  could 
arrange  matters  best  by  himself. 

It  was  curious  to  watch  the  gradual  effect  of  his  argu- 
ments, and  the  cool  way  in  which  he  proceeded.  He  first 
of  all  drew  them  out,  and  allowed  them  to  expend  all  the 
spare  energy  for  vociferation  they  possessed,  and  then  asked 
them  what  advantage  was  to  be  gained  by  stopping  me. 
He  said  I had  come  direct  from  Peking,  and  had  a pass- 
port from  the  Emperor  of  China,  which  I could  show 
them  ; and  that,  having  that  passport,  I was  known,  and 
my  whereabouts  was  known,  so  that  if  anything  happened 
to  me  they  would  have  Chinese  soldiers  swarming  over 
their  country,  and  every  sort  of  harm  done  them.  He 
then  went  on  to  say  that  as  far  as  he  was  concerned  it  was 
a matter  of  indifference  whether  they  let  me  through  or 
not ; but,  looking  at  the  question  from  an  outside  point  of 
view,  it  certainly  seemed  to  him  wiser  on  their  part  to  let 
me  go  quietly  on  to  the  next  place,  and  so  end  the  matter. 
If  they  did  this,  nothing  more  would  be  heard  of  me  ; 
whereas,  if  they  did  anything  to  me,  a good  deal  more 
might  come  of  it.  The  upshot  of  the  affair  was  that  they 
allowed  themselves  to  be  persuaded,  and  it  was  agreed  that 
I should  be  permitted  to  proceed  on  my  way.  Rahmat- 
ula-Khan  had  successfully  extricated  me  from  what  might 
have  been  a very  awkward  situation. 

He  was  one  of  the  best  men  for  this  kind  of  work  I could 


136  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 


have  found,  for  he  was  always  well-spoken  with  the 
people,  and  cool  in  difficulties.  He  was  a good  com- 
panion, too,  and  on  the  long  marches  and  after  them,  in 
the  tent,  he  used  to  tell  me  of  his  travels,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  had  been  in  Egypt,  and  was  in  Constantinople 
at  the  time  of  the  Russian  war.  What  struck  him  most 
about  the  Russians  was  that  their  soldiers  were  “ pukka,” 
that  is,  hardy.  They  were  not  so  well  treated  as  ours  in 
the  way  of  food  and  clothing,  but  they  were  “ pukka,”  he 
kept  on  repeating,  and  ready  to  go  through  any  amount 
of  hardships.  The  trait  he  did  not  like  in  the  Russians 
was  their  passion  for  passports  ; they  were  always  at  him 
for  his  passport,  so  that  there  was  always  a certain  amount 
of  difficulty  or  obstruction  in  moving  about,  and  this 
interfered  with  his  constitutional  habit  of  roving.  He  was 
a strict  Mohammedan,  and  seemed  to  me  to  be  always 
praying,  though  he  assured  me  he  only  did  so  the  regula- 
tion five  times  a day.  As  to  us,  he  thought  we  had  no 
religion.  He  had  observed  us  going  to  church  on  Sun- 
days, but  that  was  only  once  a week,  and  he  did  not  know 
what  we  did  for  the  remainder  of  the  seven  days.  I knew 
that  this  man  could  be  relied  on,  and  so  left  this  dispute 
with  the  Kirghiz  entirely  in  his  hands  ; and  when  he  had 
settled  it,  we  set  out  from  the  encampment. 

This  was  the  largest  settlement  I had  met  with,  and  the 
Kirghiz,  besides  keeping  flocks  and  herds,  also  cultivated 
a good  deal  of  land.  I noticed  some  houses  scattered  about 
the  plain,  and  asked  who  lived  in  them,  but  was  told  that 
they  were  merely  storehouses.  The  Kirghiz  said  that 
houses  were  good  enough  to  put  supplies  of  grain  in,  but 
they  would  not  live  in  them  for  fear  of  their  falling  down. 

From  this  place  we  determined  to  march  on  as  hard  as 
we  could  till  we  got  out  of  the  country  inhabited  by 
Kirghiz,  and  down  into  the  plains  again,  where  the  people 
are  all  Turkis.  This  we  succeeded  in  doing  the  same  day. 
We  followed  down  a stream,  and  then,  after  passing  a 
small  Chinese  post,  emerged  on  to  the  great  central  plain 
of  Turkestan  again  near  Artysh.  From  here  I saw  one 
of  those  sights  which  almost  strike  one  dumb  at  first — a 


THE  PAMIRS  IN  SIGHT 


137 


1887] 

line  of  snowy  peaks  apparently  suspended  in  mid-air. 
They  were  the  Pamir  Mountains,  but  they  were  so 
distant,  and  the  lower  atmosphere  was  so  laden  with  dust, 
that  their  base  was  hidden,  and  only  their  snowy  summits 
were  visible.  One  of  these  was  over  twenty-five  thousand 
feet  high,  and  another  twenty-two  thousand,  while  the 
spot  where  I stood  was  only  four  thousand ; so  their 
height  appeared  enormous  and  greater  still  on  account  of 
this  wonderful  appearance  of  being  separated  from  earth. 

Here,  indeed,  was  a landmark  of  progress.  More 
than  a thousand  miles  back  I had  first  sighted  the 
end  of  the  Tian-shan  Mountains  from  the  desert.  I 
had  surmounted  their  terminal  spurs,  and  then  travelled 
week  after  week  along  their  base,  their  summits  con- 
stantly appearing  away  on  my  right  hand.  Now  at  last 
arose  in  front  of  me  the  barrier  which  was  to  mark  the 
point  where  I should  turn  off  left  and  south  to  India.  It 
was  a worthy  termination  of  that  vast  plain,  for  the 
greater  part  desert,  which  stretches  away  from  the 
borders  of  Manchuria  to  the  buttress  range  of  the  Pamirs. 

That  evening  we  reached  Artysh.  Everything  here 
looked  thriving  and  prosperous.  The  fruit  season  was 
at  its  height,  and  all  along  the  road,  at  any  little  garden, 
the  most  delicious  grapes  and  melons  could  be  obtained. 
Nor  was  there  now  any  difficulty  with  the  people,  and 
they  were  always  ready  to  allow  us  to  rest  for  a time  in 
their  gardens  or  put  us  up  for  the  night.  I noticed  a very 
large  canal,  which  struck  me  as  being  an  unusually  fine 
work  for  the  people  of  the  country  to  undertake,  and  was 
informed  that  it  had  been  made  by  Yakoob  Beg.  His 
intention  had  been  to  water  a large  desert  tract  beyond, 
but  he  had  not  lived  to  complete  his  task,  and  only  a 
comparatively  small  piece  of  country  is  now  irrigated  by 
it.  But  it  is  a standing  mark  of  his  large  ideas  for  the 
improvement  of  the  country,  and  the  people  spoke  regret- 
fully of  the  indifference  the  Chinese  showed  towards  the 
project. 

On  the  following  day  we  should  reach  Kashgar,  and 
the  second  great  stage  of  the  journey  would  be  com- 


138  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

pleted.  Half-way  from  Artysh  we  passed  through  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  defiles  I have  seen.  It  lay  through 
a low  range  of  hills  a few  hundred  feet  high,  and  was  up 
the  course  of  a stream  which  had  cut  a passage  in  the 
rock  so  sheer  and  narrow  that  there  was  not  room  for 
much  more  than  a laden  mule  to  pass  through,  and  the 
cleft  was  but  little  wider  at  the  top  than  it  was  at  the 
bottom. 

From  this  we  emerged  on  to  the  Kashgar  plain,  passed 
through  a populous,  well-cultivated  district  covered  with 
trees  and  fruit  gardens,  and  at  length  entered  the  town  of 
Kashgar,  the  distance  to  which,  when  I was  starting  from 
Peking,  had  seemed  so  vast.  Here  I was  at  last,  and  the 
culminating  point  of  my  journey  had  been  reached.  For 
the  rest  of  the  way  I should  be,  so  to  speak,  on  my 
return.  Kashgar  was  well  known,  too,  from  the  Indian 
side,  and  there  was  a Russian  consul  stationed  there.  So 
when  I reached  the  place  I appeared  to  have  arrived 
again  on  the  fringes  of  civilisation. 

Passing  through  the  native  town,  we  put  up  at  an  inn 
on  the  southern  side.  I sent  my  card  and  passport  to  the 
yamen,  and  very  shortly  afterwards  the  Afghan  Aksakal 
and  a number  of  Indian  traders  came  to  see  me.  These 
Aksakals  are  men  selected  by  the  Chinese  from  among 
the  traders  of  each  country  as  their  representatives.  They 
are  responsible  for  reporting  any  new  arrivals,  and  all 
dealings  with  their  countrymen  are  carried  on  by  the 
Chinese  through  them.  They  correspond  to  a certain 
extent  to  consuls,  and  perform  some  of  the  functions 
of  a consul,  but  they  are  appointed  and  removed  at  the 
pleasure  of  the  Chinese.  This  Afghan  Aksakal,  though 
he  was  afterwards  suspected  of  having  sheltered  the 
murderer  of  Mr.  Dalgleish  (to  whom  I will  refer  pre- 
sently), and  had  to  leave  Kashgar,  made  himself  very 
useful  to  me,  and  greatly  impressed  me.  He  struck  me 
as  a born  soldier ; strong-willed,  capable,  and  made  to 
command.  He  and  many  of  the  traders  of  the  place — 
Afghans,  Peshawuris,  Badakhshis,  and  others — were  with 
me  nearly  the  whole  day  long  during  my  few  days’  stay 


iSS;]  AN  AFGHAN  OPINION  OF  EARL  ROBERTS  139 


in  Kashgar.  Tea  and  fruit  were  always  ready,  and  they 
used  to  sit  round  and  talk.  The  Afghan’s  conversation 
was  mostly  of  fighting,  and  of  rifles  and  revolvers. 
Every  kind  of  firearm  he  seemed  to  know,  and  to  have 
his  own  opinion  about  it  as  to  its  efficiency.  The 
Russian  Berdan  rifle  he  preferred  to  our  Martini,  and 
he  thought  the  Americans  made  better  revolvers  than 
we  did.  At  the  time  the  Chinese  re-took  Kashgar  he 
was  in  the  town,  and  said  there  was  practically  no 
fighting.  Yakoob  Beg  had  died,  or  been  poisoned,  away 
westward  some  weeks  before,  and  he  being  dead,  there 
was  no  one  to  lead  the  defence,  and  the  people  of  the 
country  were  absolutely  apathetic.  What  soldiers  there 
were,  when  they  heard  the  Chinese  were  close  to  the 
town,  hastily  threw  aside  their  uniforms  or  disguises  as 
soldiers,  and,  assuming  the  dress  of  cultivators,  walked 
about  the  fields  in  a lamb-like  and  innocent  manner. 
The  Chinese  entered  the  town,  and  everything  went  on 
as  if  nothing  had  happened — the  shopkeeper  sold  his 
wares,  and  the  countryman  ploughed  his  fields,  totally 
indifferent  as  to  who  was  or  who  was  not  in  power  in 
Kashgar.  Only  the  ruling  classes  were  affected,  and 
most  of  them  had  fled. 

The  Afghan  merchants  would  often  talk,  too,  of  our 
last  war  with  them.  Some  of  them  had  fought  against 
us.  They  asked  me  one  day  where  “Ropert”  was.  I 
did  not  quite  understand  at  first  who  or  what  they  meant. 
But  they  explained  that  he  (it  was  a person  apparently) 
was  a first-rate  man  to  fight,  and  then  it  struck  me  that 
they  meant  General  Roberts.  They  had  a great  admira- 
tion for  him.  One  of  them  said  that  he  had  set  out  from 
Kandahar  to  Kabul,  but  on  the  way  had  “met”  General 
Roberts,  and  had  returned.  I was  told  afterwards  that 
he  had  been  in  three  fights  against  the  British,  but  here, 
outside  his  own  country,  he  was  friendly  enough  with  an 
Englishman,  and  he  said  he  admired  us  for  being  able  to 
fight  quite  as  well  as  Afghans  ! They  have  a rather  over- 
powering pride  at  times,  these  Afghans ; but,  on  the 
whole,  one  likes  them  for  their  manliness.  They  are 


140  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

men,  at  any  rate,  and  they  are  very  good  fellows  to  meet 
and  talk  with  as  one  could  do  in  a Kashgar  serai.  It  was 
noticeable,  too,  that  they  never  lost  their  respect  either 
for  themselves  or  for  the  Englishman  they  were  talking 
with,  so  that  we  could  converse  away  perfectly  freely  and 
openly.  Altogether  I much  enjoyed  my  talk  with  them. 

I was  rather  out  of  sorts  the  day  after  my  arrival,  but 
on  the  second  I went  to  call  on  the  Russian  consul.  The 
Afghan  Aksakal  had  an  idea  that  Russians  and  English- 
men were  rather  like  cats  and  dogs  in  their  relation  towards 
each  other,  and  that  they  could  not  meet  without  fighting. 
So,  just  as  I was  mounting  my  pony  to  go  off,  he  caught 
me  by  the  arm  and  whispered  confidentially  to  me, 
“Now,  sahib,  do  your  best  to  be  polite,  and  don’t 
go  fighting  with  that  Russian.”  I found  M.  Petrovsky, 
the  Russian  consul,  living  in  a native  house,  which,  by 
improvements,  he  had  made  very  comfortable.  He  and 
his  secretary,  M.  Putsch,  received  me  very  cordially,  and 
sent  for  a missionary,  M.  Hendriks,  who  lived  close  by, 
to  come  and  see  me  and  hear  the  account  of  my  journey 
from  Peking.  The  talk  turned  on  India,  and  I was 
astonished  to  find  how  well  acquainted  M.  Petrovsky 
was  with  that  country.  He  showed  me  with  pride  many 
volumes  by  the  best  English  writers  on  Indian  subjects, 
and  the  most  recent  parliamentary  Blue  Books  on  the 
country.  The  annual  parliamentary  report  on  the 
“Material  and  Moral  Progress  of  India”  was  one  which 
he  took  in  regularly,  and  admired  very  much.  He  had 
known  the  Amir  of  Afghanistan,  Abdul  Rahman,  at 
the  time  he  was  a refugee  in  Samarcand,  and  he  knew 
the  names  and  a good  deal  of  the  personal  history  of 
most  of  the  leading  men  in  Kashmir.  On  the  Central 
Asian  question  he  spoke  very  freely,  and  said  that  we 
English  always  suspected  the  Russians  of  designs  upon 
India,  but  that  in  reality  nothing  was  further  from  their 
minds. 

But  comprehensive  as  was  M.  Petrovsky’s  knowledge 
of  India  and  Central  Asian  affairs,  I am  not  sure  that  they 
were  what  chiefly  attracted  him  ; and  I am  inclined  to 


1887]  RUSSIANS  IN  KASHGAR  141 

think  that  his  heart  really  lay  in  scientific  pursuits.  In 
his  library  were  large  numbers  of  books  of  science,  and 
his  room  was  full  of  instruments  of  various  descriptions — 
an  astronomical  telescope,  barometers,  thermometers  of 
all  kinds,  an  apparatus  for  measuring  the  movements 
of  earthquakes,  and  various  other  instruments.  He  was 
evidently  a man  of  considerable  attainments.  The  con- 
sulate had  been  established  in  Kashgar  about  seven  years, 
and  both  M.  Petrovsky  and  M.  Putsch  had  been  there 
from  the  beginning.  They  both  understood  English  and 
read  it,  but  had  had  little  practice  in  speaking  it.  The 
Chinese  they  did  not  speak  of  at  all  favourably.  Accord- 
ing to  them,  they  were  lazy  and  corrupt,  and  administered 
the  country  very  badly. 

M.  Hendriks  had  been  in  Kashgar  for  two  or  three 
years,  and  had  previously  belonged  to  a mission  estab- 
lishment on  the  borders  of  Mongolia.  He  was  a man  of 
varied  accomplishments,  who  had  travelled  much,  and 
who  spoke  or  read  most  languages  from  Russian  to 
Tibetan.  So  far  he  had  had  little  success  in  actually 
converting  the  people  of  Kashgar,  who  are  very  apathetic, 
and  little  inclined  to  think  much  about  religion  of  any 
sort,  much  less  to  take  the  trouble  of  changing  that  in 
which  they  were  brought  up.  But  M.  Hendriks  was  a 
good  doctor  as  well  as  a missionary,  and  often  spent  his 
time  in  visiting  and  prescribing  for  the  sick,  in  this  way 
doing  much  practical  good. 

When  I returned  to  the  serai  from  my  visit  to  the 
consul,  the  Afghan  Aksakal  eyed  me  closely,  to  see  if 
there  were  any  signs  of  a scrimmage  with  the  Russian, 
and  when  I told  him  that  M.  Petrovsky  was  coming  on  the 
following  morning  to  return  my  visit,  he  seemed  relieved. 
I said  I should  want  the  room  I was  occupying  made 
respectable  to  receive  him  in,  and  he  immediately  darted 
off  in  his  usual  impetuous  manner,  saying  he  would 
arrange  everything.  Shortly  afterwards  good  carpets, 
chairs,  a table,  teapot,  cups,  saucers,  and  plates,  came 
pouring  in,  and  the  room  was  in  a few  moments  trans- 
formed into  a civilised  abode. 


142  THROUGH  TURKESTAN  TO  YARKAND  [chap,  vi 

On  the  following  morning  the  consul,  with  an  escort  of 
sixteen  mounted  Cossacks  and  the  Russian  flag,  rode  into 
the  semi.  We  had  another  long  conversation  together, 
and  it  was  a great  pleasure  to  talk  again  with  a European, 
after  so  many  months  of  travel.  M.  Petrovsky  is  an  especi- 
ally interesting  man  to  talk  with,  and  I was  sorry  I could 
not  stay  longer  in  Kashgar  to  see  more  of  him. 

But  Liu-san  having  arrived  with  the  cart,  I had  to  start 
off  again  for  Yarkand.  Liu-san  had  fulfilled  his  contract, 
and  landed  everything  in  Kashgar  exactly  in  the  time 
stipulated— forty  days  from  Kami — a good  performance, 
with  which  I was  very  much  pleased.  Between  Kashgar 
and  Yarkand  there  was  nothing  of  special  interest  that 
had  not  been  noted  by  previous  travellers.  We  had  made 
the  turn  southwards,  and  now  the  Pamir  Mountains, 
instead  of  being  straight  in  front  of  us,  were  passed  by  on 
our  right  hand. 

On  August  29  we  reached  Yarkand,  and  were  met 
outside  by  the  Kashmir  Aksakal  and  a large  number  of 
Indian  traders,  who  had  heard  that  an  English  officer  was 
coming  to  Yarkand,  and  had  ridden  out  to  meet  me.  An 
Englishman  always  gets  a warm  welcome  from  natives  of 
India  in  foreign  countries.  I have  been  told  that  it  is  all 
because  of  self-interest,  and  that  they  merely  do  it  because 
they  hope  to  get  something  out  of  him.  Possibly  this 
may  be  so,  but  I prefer  to  think  that  there  is  also  some 
tinge  of  warmth  of  heart  in  it,  and  a feeling  of  kinship 
with  their  rulers  which  attracts  them  in  a strange  land  to 
an  Englishman.  At  any  rate,  that  was  the  impression 
produced  upon  me  by  my  reception  in  Yarkand,  and  I 
would  rather  retain  that  than  make  way  for  the  colder 
reasoning  which  has  been  suggested  to  me. 

In  the  best  Chinese  inn  in  the  place  the  chief  room  had 
been  made  ready  for  me  by  the  Kashmir  Aksakal. 
Carpets,  chairs,  and  tables  from  his  own  house  had  been 
brought  in,  and  large  plates  and  baskets  piled  with  fruit — 
presents  from  the  merchants — came  pouring  in.  Every- 
thing was  done  to  make  me  comfortable,  and  the  feeling 
that  I was  nearing  my  destination  increased. 


CHAPTER  VII 


INTO  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS 

Yarkand  was  the  last  town  of  Chinese  Turkestan 
I visited,  and  now  that  I had  traversed  the  entire 
length  of  the  country,  a brief  general  description  of 
it  may  be  interesting.  The  chief  characteristic  of  its 
physical  features  is  undoubtedly  the  amount  of  desert 
comprised  in  it.  The  whole  country  is,  in  fact,  nothing 
but  a desert,  with  patches  of  cultivation  along  the  streams 
which  flow  down  from  the  mountains,  showing  out  sharp 
and  distinct  like  green  splotches  on  a sepia  picture.  On 
three  sides  this  desert  is  shut  in  by  ranges  of  snowy 
mountains,  very  like  the  letter  (J,  and  on  the  fourth  side 
it  stretches  away  uninterruptedly  for  nearly  two  thousand 
miles.  The  mountain  slopes  are  as  bare  as  the  plains, 
and  were  it  not  for  the  oases,  no  more  inhospitable 
country  could  be  imagined.  But  these  oases  are  what 
save  it.  Once  out  of  the  surrounding  desert,  the  traveller 
finds  himself  amidst  the  most  inviting  surroundings — cool 
shady  lanes  with  watercourses  running  in  every  direction, 
alongside  the  road,  across  it,  and  under  it,  giving  life  to 
everything  where  before  all  was  dead  and  bare  and  burnt. 
On  either  hand,  as  far  as  can  be  seen,  lie  field  after  field 
of  ripening  crops,  only  broken  by  the  fruit  gardens  and 
shady  little  hamlets.  Everything  seems  in  plenty.  Fruit 
is  brought  before  you  in  huge  trayfuls,  and  wheat  is 
cheaper  than  even  in  India. 

In  this  way  it  is  a land  of  extremes.  On  one  side 
nothing — not  the  possibility  of  anything  ; on  the  other — 
plenty.  And  the  climate  has  as  great  extremes  as  the 
physical  appearance.  The  summer  is  scorchingly  hot 


143 


144  the  heart  of  THE  HIMALAYAS  [chap,  vii 

anywhere  outside  the  small  portion  that  is  cultivated  and 
shaded  with  trees  ; and  in  the  winter  the  thermometer 
falls  to  zero  Fahrenheit.  This  is  the  natural  result  of  the 
position  of  the  country  in  the  very  heart  of  the  greatest 
continent,  where  none  of  the  tempering  effects  of  the  sea 
could  possibly  reach  it. 

The  people,  however,  do  not  share  this  characteristic 
of  running  to  extremes.  They  are  the  essence  of  im- 
perturbable mediocrity.  They  live  in  a land  where — in 
the  places  in  which  anything  at  all  can  be  grown — the 
necessaries  of  life  can  be  produced  easily  and  plentifully. 
Their  mountain  barriers  shield  them  from  severe  outside 
competition,  and  they  lead  a careless,  easy,  apathetic 
existence.  Nothing  disturbs  them.  Revolutions  have 
occurred,  but  they  have  mostly  been  carried  out  by 
foreigners.  One  set  of  rulers  has  suddenly  replaced 
another  set,  but  the  rulers  in  both  instances  have  nearly 
all  been  foreigners.  Yakoob  Beg  was  a foreigner,  and  most 
of  the  officials  under  him  were  foreigners,  so  that  even  when 
their  hereditary  rulers — the  Chinese — were  driven  out  for 
a time,  the  people  of  Chinese  Turkestan  did  not  rule 
themselves.  On  the  contrary,  in  all  these  changes,  they 
appear  to  have  looked  on  with  indifference.  Such  a 
people  are,  as  might  naturally  be  inferred,  not  a fighting 
race.  They  are  a race  of  cultivators  and  small  shop- 
keepers, and  nothing  more,  and  nothing  would  make 
them  anything  more.  It  is  their  destiny,  shut  away  here 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  to  lead  a dull,  spiritless,  but 
easy  and  perhaps  happy  life,  which  they  allow  nothing  to 
disturb. 

How  different  all  this  is  from  what  we  had  found  in  Man- 
churia ! There  we  had  the  keen,  industrious  Chinaman, 
working  his  very  hardest — working  away  from  morning 
to  night,  not  to  live  merely,  but  to  get  the  utmost  he  could 
out  of  the  land,  accumulating  his  wealth,  seeking  your 
custom,  doing  all  he  could  to  improve  his  position.  The 
ruins,  the  dilapidated  towns  of  Turkestan,  were  practic- 
ally unknown  there,  and  the  large  concentrated  villages, 
instead  of  farmhouses  scattered,  as  in  Turkestan,  in- 


1887] 


YARKAND 


145 


differently  over  the  country  or  situated  among  the  fields 
of  the  owner,  spoke  of  a people  among  whom  the  sterner 
habits  of  brigandage  were  unknown.  Of  the  two  races, 
the  Chinese  were  evidently  born  to  have  the  upper  hand  ; 
but  whether  they  therefore  enjoy  life  so  thoroughly  as  the 
easy-going  Turki  is  a question  open  to  doubt. 

Yarkand,  as  I have  said,  was  the  last  town  in  Turkestan 
I should  pass  through,  and  here  I had  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  the  journey  across  the  Himalayas.  On  entering 
the  town  I received  a letter  from  Colonel  Bell,  written  on 
the  Karakoram  Pass,  saying  he  had  just  heard  of  my 
being  in  Chinese  Turkestan,  and  telling  me,  instead  of 
following  him  along  the  well-known  and  extremely  barren 
and  uninteresting  route  by  Leh  to  India,  to  try  the  un- 
explored but  direct  road  by  the  Mustagh  Pass  on  Balti- 
stan  and  Kashmir.  This  was  a suggestion  which  delighted 
me.  It  was  something  quite  new,  and  promised  to  be 
difficult  enough  to  be  really  worth  doing.  I therefore  set 
to  with  my  preparations  for  it  with  a will. 

The  first  thing,  of  course,  was  to  get  guides.  Fortun- 
ately, there  are  a large  number  of  Baltis — about  two 
thousand — settled  in  the  Yarkand  district,  and  the  Kash- 
mir Aksakal  said  he  would  easily  be  able  to  obtain  men 
for  me.  Then  ponies  had  to  be  collected.  Here,  too, 
there  was  no  difficulty,  for  Yarkand  abounds  in  ponies. 

I used  to  examine  thirty  or  forty  a day.  Sheepskin  coats 
for  the  men,  supplies  for  the  road,  shoes  for  the  ponies, 
etc.,  were  also  things  which  could  be  easily  procured. 
So,  having  set  one  or  two  of  the  merchants  to  work  at 
these  preparations,  I took  a look  round  Yarkand. 

The  first  place  I visited  was  poor  Dalgleish’s  house. 
For  ten  or  twelve  years  he  had  been  settled  in  Yarkand  as 
a trader — a true  pioneer  of  commerce — and  for  the  last 
two  he  had  been  the  companion  of  Mr,  Carey,  of  the 
India  Civil  Service,  in  one  of  the  most  adventurous  and 
daring  journeys  that  have  ever  been  made  in  Central  Asia 
—a  journey  right  round  Chinese  Turkestan  and  into  the 
very  heart  of  Tibet.  He  was  now  in  India,  preparing  to 
return  to  Yarkand,  but  he  was  fated  never  to  reach  that 


146  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS  [chap,  vii 

place  again.  On  his  way  there,  near  the  summit  of  the 
Karakoram  Pass,  he  was  treacherously  murdered  by  an 
Afghan,  and  so  ended  the  career  of  one  who  had  done 
much  for  our  good  name  in  this  distant  land.  Every  one 
who  mentioned  his  name  spoke  of  him  with  kindliness 
and  respect.  It  was  hard  to  drive  a bargain  with  him, 
the  traders  said,  as  it  is  with  every  other  Scotchman,  but 
they  appreciated  this  sign  of  business  capacity,  and  they 
liked  his  openness  and  fairness  and  truthfulness.  When- 
ever he  could,  he  was  ready  to  help  them  ; he  regularly 
threw  in  his  lot  with  them,  and  lived  amongst  them  in 
every  way  as  one  of  themselves.  In  this  manner  he 
secured  their  affection  to  an  extraordinary  degree — to 
such  an  extent,  in  fact,  that  the  Russian  consul  at  Kash- 
gar afterwards  told  me  that  when  one  of  his  servants, 
after  his  murder,  came  to  him,  the  man  could  not  restrain 
himself  from  crying,  evidently  from  unaffected  grief ; and 
M.  Petrovsky  said  he  could  never  have  believed  that  an 
Asiatic  could  become  so  devoted  to  a European.  These 
are  the  men,  quite  unremarkable  though  they  appear 
when  met  with  in  ordinary  life,  who  are  the  true 
missionaries  of  all  that  is  best  in  our  civilisation.  Their 
real  greatness  is  only  apparent  when  they  are  separated 
from  us  by  the  distance  of  death — like  a picture,  coarse 
and  rough  when  viewed  too  closely,  but  instinct  with 
depth  of  feeling  when  viewed  from  a distance.  It  is 
they  who,  going  ahead,  pave  the  way  for  others  to 
follow ; and  every  Englishman  and  every  European 
who  visits  Yarkand  territory  after  Dalgleish,  must  owe 
a debt  of  gratitude  to  the  first  impression  of  good  feeling 
which  he  established  for  us  there. 

And,  relation  of  mine  though  he  be,  and  biassed  as 
I may  be  thought  towards  him,  I do  not  think  that  in 
this  place  I ought  to  omit  a mention  of  my  uncle,  Robert 
Shaw,  the  first  of  all  Englishmen,  together  with  Hay- 
ward, to  visit  Yarkand,  and  the  officer  selected  by  the 
Government  of  India,  in  Yakoob  Beg’s  time,  as  Political 
Agent  to  that  prince.  Schlagentweit,  the  only  European 
who  had  ventured  into  Chinese  Turkestan  from  India 


1887] 


ROBERT  SHAW 


147 


before  Shaw  and  Hayward,  had  been  murdered.  No- 
thing was  known  of  the  country.  It  was  hidden  in 
mystery  far  away  beyond  the  Himalayas.  Alone,  in 
the  capacity  of  a merchant,  he  set  out  with  a caravan 
to  penetrate  into  the  weird  unknown.  On  the  confines 
of  the  country  he  was  overtaken  by  Hayward — an  ex- 
plorer as  bold  as  himself,  who  was  afterwards  murdered 
in  Yasin,  a valley  of  the  Hindu  Kush.  Together  they 
were  escorted  on  to  Yarkand — together,  but  separated, 
for  they  were  always  kept  apart,  and  communication 
between  them  was  forbidden.  After  many  trials  and 
dangers,  these  two  returned  safely  to  India,  with  a 
favourable  report  of  the  country.  A year  or  two  after- 
wards the  Government  of  India  sent  there  an  imposing 
mission  under  Sir  Douglas  Forsyth,  and  subsequently 
Shaw  again  visited  the  country  as  Political  Agent.  He 
stayed  there  then  for  more  than  a year  ; he  composed 
a valuable  grammar  and  vocabulary  of  the  language, 
and  also  a history  of  the  country,  which  is  now  with  his 
relatives,  in  manuscript.  During  this  time  he  instinc- 
tively attached  himself  to  the  people,  and  to  illustrate 
the  lasting  effect  of  the  devotion  which  he  evoked,  I will 
give  one  story.  Some  years  afterwards  the  servant  of 
an  English  officer  was  travelling  alone  on  the  borders 
of  this  country,  and  unexpectedly  found  himself  in  a 
peculiarly  awkward  position,  which  placed  him  abso- 
lutely in  the  hands  of  a native  official.  This  man  could 
have  ruined  the  servant,  but,  knowing  he  was  in  the  em- 
ploy of  an  Englishman,  he  said,  “I  too  was  once  an 
Englishman’s  servant ; I was  in  the  employment  of 
Shaw  Sahib,  and  out  of  gratitude  to  him  I will  now  let 
you  off.” 

The  house  where  Shaw  had  lived  chiefly,  I was  told, 
had  all  been  pulled  down  by  the  Chinese,  and  official 
yamens  built  in  its  place.  Dalgleish’s  residence  was  a 
comfortable  little  native  house  in  the  old  city,  where  he 
used  to  sell  his  goods  himself.  Here  the  usual  trays  of 
fruit  were  brought  me,  and  after  spending  the  morning 
there  talking  to  the  numerous  visitors,  I returned  to  the 


148  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS  [chap,  vii 

inn  and  prepared  for  a visit  I was  to  make  to  the  Chinese 
governor  of  Yarkand  in  the  afternoon.  Hitherto,  since 
leaving  Peking,  I had  purposely  kept  from  visiting  the 
Chinese  officials,  partly  because  I had  no  proper  inter- 
preter, and  partly  because  I was  travelling  in  such  a quiet 
way  that  the  official  probably  would  not  care  to  return  my 
visit  in  a wretched  traveller’s  inn.  Chinese  officials  sur- 
round themselves  with  a good  deal  of  state  when  they 
appear  in  public,  and  it  seems  to  go  as  much  against  the 
grain  with  them  to  visit  a stray  foreigner  in  a traveller’s 
serai,  as  it  would  to  the  mayor  of  an  English  town  if 
he  were  expected  to  get  into  his  full  livery  and  go  with  all 
civic  ceremony  to  call  upon  a wandering  Chinaman  put- 
ting up  at  the  local  Blue  Posts.  As  a rule,  therefore, 
I merely  sent  my  passport  and  my  card  up  to  the  chief 
official,  said  I had  just  arrived,  and  would  leave  the  next 
day,  or  whenever  it  was,  and  that  I regretted  I should  not 
be  able  to  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  on  him.  But 
this  governor  of  Yarkand  showed  particular  civility,  and 
sent  me  several  friendly  messages,  so  I called  upon  him 
on  the  afternoon  after  my  arrival. 

He  received  me  with  the  usual  politeness  of  a Chinese 
official,  but  with  more  cordiality.  His  residence  here  in 
Yarkand,  at  the  very  extremity  of  the  Chinese  Empire, 
was  of  precisely  the  same  pattern  and  character  as  those 
in  Peking  itself,  and  the  governor’s  dress  was  exactly 
similar  to  that  of  any  official  in  the  heart  of  China.  In 
whatever  part  of  the  Chinese  Empire  you  visit  an  official, 
you  will  always  find  both  his  residence  and  his  official 
dress  precisely  the  same  ; the  loose  blue  silk  jacket  and 
petticoat,  and  either  the  mushroom  hat  in  summer,  or  the 
pork-pie  hat  in  winter.  No  change  or  variation,  whether 
the  office  is  civil  or  military.  Difference  in  rank  is  shown 
only  by  a slightly  increased  amount  of  gold  for  the  higher 
grades  on  the  square  plate  of  embroidery  in  the  centre 
of  the  jacket,  and  by  the  colour  of  the  button  on  the  top  of 
the  hat. 

The  Governor  of  Yarkand  received  me  in  one  of  his 
private  rooms,  and  we  had  a long  conversation  together. 


1887] 


A FEAST  IN  A FRUIT-GARDEN 


149 


He  had  never  been  to  Peking,  and  asked  many  questions 
about  it,  and  about  the  road  by  which  I had  come,  which 
he  said  no  Chinese  officials  ever  thought  of  using.  An 
hour  after  I had  reached  the  inn  again,  he  came  to  make  a 
return  call  upon  me,  and  in  every  way  showed  a friendly 
feeling.  This  Amban  was  one  of  the  best  governors 
Yarkand  has  had,  and,  contrary  to  the  usual  custom  of 
the  Chinese  officials,  he  had  taken  considerable  pains 
to  construct  canals  for  the  extension  of  cultivation,  and  to 
build  new  bazaars  in  the  city. 

Yarkand  is  the  largest  town  I had  seen  in  Turkestan. 
There  are,  as  everywhere  in  this  country,  two  towns,  the 
native  and  the  Chinese,  but  at  Yarkand  these  are  con- 
nected by  a bazaar  a few  hundred  yards  in  length.  The 
latter  is  almost  entirely  new,  but  the  native  town  is  old 
and  dilapidated.  The  houses  are  built  of  mud,  as  a rule, 
and  there  are  no  very  striking  buildings  to  arrest  one’s 
interest.  All  the  streets  have  that  dusty,  dirty,  uncared- 
for  appearance  so  characteristic  of  Central  Asian  towns, 
and  outside  the  bazaars  there  is  little  life.  Yarkand,  how- 
ever, is  the  centre  of  a considerable  trade,  and  in  the 
autumn  large  caravans  start  for  and  arrive  from  India  at 
frequent  intervals,  and  the  bazaars  are  then  crowded. 

A large  number  of  the  merchants  engaged  in  this  trade 
gave  me  one  day  a sumptuous  feast  in  a fruit-garden 
a short  distance  outside  Yarkand.  Few  people  know  the 
way  to  enjoy  life  and  make  themselves  comfortable  better 
than  these  merchants.  We  first  of  all  sat  about  under  the 
shade  of  the  trees,  while  huge  bunches  of  grapes  and 
delicious  melons  and  peaches  were  freshly  plucked  and 
brought  to  us  to  eat.  Then  dinner  was  announced,  and 
after  water  for  washing  the  hands  had  been  passed  round, 
we  set  to  at  dish  after  dish  of  “ pillaos  ” and  stews,  all 
beautifully  cooked,  and  we  ended  up  with  a pudding 
made  of  whipped  egg  and  sugar  and  some  other  ingredi- 
ents, which  it  would  be  hard  to  beat  anywhere.  All  the 
time  the  merchants  were  chaffing  away  amongst  them- 
selves, and  were  as  “gay”  and  talkative  as  Frenchmen. 
You  could  scarcely  wish  for  better  company  or  more 


150  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS  [chap,  vii 

genial  hosts.  On  the  way  home  we  had  races,  each  mer- 
chant trying  to  make  out  that  his  own  horse  was  better 
than  the  others.  These  men  are  a curious  mixture  of 
Eastern  gravity  and  politeness,  and  boyish  spirits  and 
fun.  They  will  come  to  call  on  you,  and  talk  away  with 
the  greatest  solemnity  and  deference.  You  meet  them 
next  day  out  for  a burst  of  enjoyment,  and  every  sign 
of  gravity  is  thrown  away,  and  they  are  as  free  and  natural 
and  full  of  life  as  children. 

With  the  aid  of  a committee  of  some  of  these,  my  pre- 
parations for  the  attack  of  the  Mustagh  Pass  progressed 
most  favourably.  The  services  of  a first-rate  guide  were 
secured ; his  name  was  Wali,  and  he  was  a native  of 
Askole,  the  nearest  village  on  the  Baltistan  side  of  the 
pass.  He  had  come  to  Yarkand  by  the  route  many  years 
before,  but  undertook  to  say  he  had  not  forgotten  it,  and 
could  guide  me  by  it  all  right.  Beside  him,  three  other 
Baltis  were  enlisted  to  carry  loads,  if  it  should  be  found 
impossible  to  take  ponies  over  the  pass.  Thirteen  ponies 
were  bought,  and  four  Ladakis  engaged  to  look  after 
them.  Among  these  Ladakis  was  a man  named  Mohamed 
Esa  (formerly  Drogpa),  who  had  accompanied  Messrs. 
Carey  and  Dalgleish  to  Tibet,  and  whom  Colonel  Bell 
had  sent  back  to  me  to  help  me  through,  and  who  is  now 
with  me  in  Tibet.  He  was  placed  in  charge  of  the  cara- 
van, and  made  responsible  for  its  efficiency.  Three  com- 
plete sets  of  shoes  for  each  pony  were  taken,  and  new 
pack-saddles  and  blankets.  All  the  men  were  thoroughly 
well  equipped  with  heavy  sheepskin  coats,  fur  caps,  and 
new  footgear.  Orders  were  sent  on  to  Kugiar,  the  last 
principal  village  on  the  Yarkand  side,  to  have  three  weeks’ 
supplies  for  men  and  ponies  ready  there,  and  these  sup- 
plies for  the  men  included  rice,  ghi  (clarified  butter),  tea, 
sugar,  and  some  sheep  to  drive  along  with  us,  so  that  the 
men  should  be  fit  and  work  willingly ; for,  after  all,  the 
success  of  the  enterprise  would  depend  upon  them,  not 
upon  me.  All  I could  do  was  to  see  that  nothing  which 
foresight  could  provide  for  should  be  left  undone  before 
the  start  was  made.  Lastly,  we  took  some  good  strong 


iSS;]  MARKET-DAY  AT  KARGALIK  151 

ropes  and  a pickaxe  or  two,  to  help  us  over  the  ice  and 
bad  ground. 

All  these  preparations  having  been  completed,  we  left 
Yarkand  on  September  8.  The  next  day  we  reached  the 
thriving  little  town  of  Kargalik.  It  was  market-day,  and 
all  the  roads  were  crowded  with  country  people  coming  in 
to  sell  their  produce,  and  buy  any  necessaries  for  the  week. 
I have  not  mentioned  these  market-days  before,  but  they 
are  a regular  institution  in  Turkestan.  Each  town  and 
village  fixes  a day  in  the  week  for  its  market-day,  and  on 
that  day  the  bazaars  are  crowded  with  people,  and  it  is 
then  that  the  country  people  do  all  their  business.  In 
small  places  the  bazaar  is  absolutely  empty  all  the  rest  of 
the  week  ; the  shops  are  there,  but  their  doors  are  shut. 
Then  on  the  market-day  everything  bursts  into  life,  and 
hundreds  of  men  and  women  from  the  country  round,  all 
dressed  in  their  best,  come  swarming  in. 

We  put  up  that  day  in  a delightful  fruit  garden,  and 
my  bed  was  made  in  a bower  of  vines,  where  the  grapes 
hung  in  enormous  clusters,  ready  to  drop  into  my  mouth. 
Two  days  later  we  reached  Kugiar,  an  extensive  village, 
where  all  supplies  were  gathered,  in  preparation  for  our 
plunge  into  the  mountains.  We  were  now  among  the 
outlying  spurs  of  the  great  barrier  which  divides  the 
plains  of  India  from  those  of  Turkestan.  Of  this  barrier 
the  nearest  range  is  called  the  Kuen-lun,  the  centre  the 
Mustagh  or  Karakoram,  and  the  furthest  the  Himalayas. 

On  leaving  Kugiar  we  headed  directly  into  these 
mountains,  and  were  fairly  launched  on  our  voyage  of 
exploration,  though  the  first  three  marches  had  been 
traversed  by  members  of  the  Forsyth  Mission.  We 
crossed  an  easy  pass  named  the  Tupa  Dawan,  and  then 
ascended  a valley  in  which  were  a few  huts  and  some 
felt  tents  belonging  to  a race  called  Pakhpu,  whom  Dr. 
Bellew,  the  skilled  ethnologist  who  accompanied  the 
Forsyth  Mission,  considered  to  be  of  a pure  Aryan  stock. 
They  were  very  fair,  and  their  features  fine  and  regular. 

Leaving  this  valley,  I crossed  the  Chiraghsaldi  Pass, 
over  the  main  ridge  of  the  Kuen-lun  Mountains.  The 


152  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS  [chap,  vii 

only  aneroid  I had  was  unfortunately  not  made  to  register 
up  to  such  heights  as  the  pass,  but  I computed  its  height 
at  about  sixteen  thousand  feet.  We  were  now  getting 
into  the  heart  of  our  work,  and  as  I looked  out  from  the 
summit  of  that  pass  on  to  the  labyrinth  of  pathless 
mountains,  rising  into  tier  after  tier  of  snowy  peaks,  I 
felt  that  there  was  some  real  stern  work  before  us,  and 
that  each  one  of  our  little  party  would  have  to  brace 
himself  up  to  do  his  very  best  if  we  wished  to  accomplish 
the  task  that  had  been  set  us.  There  were  now  no  paths 
and  no  inhabitants.  We  were  alone  among  the  moun- 
tains, and  it  was  not  only  the  difficulties  which  they 
might  present  that  we  had  to  contend  against ; we  also 
had  to  be  ever-watchful  against  an  attack  from  the  Kanjuti 
robbers,  who  had  for  many  years  infested  these  parts, 
issuing  from  their  strongholds  in  Hunza,  and  raiding  on 
caravans  trading  between  Yarkand  and  Leh  by  the  Kara- 
koram route,  and  even  levying  blackmail  from  villages 
in  the  Kugiar  district.  Three  of  the  men  I had  with  me 
had  actually  been  captured  by  these  robbers  and  after- 
wards sold  into  slavery.  It  was  necessary  to  take  every 
precaution,  and  as  it  is  their  habit  to  attack  at  night,  and 
cut  the  ropes  of  the  tent  and  let  it  down  on  the  top  of 
you,  if  you  are  unwary  enough  to  use  one,  we  had  to  live 
in  the  open,  even  on  the  glaciers,  and,  however  cold  it 
might  be,  sheltering  ourselves  behind  any  friendly  rock 
we  could  find,  and  after  dark  always  altering  the  position 
we  had  ostentatiously  assumed  during  daylight,  so  that 
if  any  Kanjutis  happened  to  have  been  watching  us  then, 
we  might,  under  the  shelter  of  the  night,  stand  less  risk 
of  their  finding  us. 

Descending  from  the  Chiraghsaldi  Pass,  we  followed 
down  the  pebbly  bed  of  a stream.  But  soon  the  stream 
disappeared  under  the  stones,  nor  could  we  find  grass  or 
bushes  for  fuel.  Darkness  came  on,  and  with  it  a snow- 
storm ; but  still  we  plodded  on,  as  under  these  circum- 
stances there  was  no  possibility  of  encamping.  Stumbling 
along  over  the  heavy  boulders,  we  at  last  came  across 
som'e  bushes,  and  a little  further  on  the  stream  appeared 


A DEPOPULATED  COUNTRY 


153 


1887] 

again  ; grass  was  found  on  its  edges,  and  we  encamped 
for  the  night. 

On  the  following  day  we  reached  the  Yarkand  River  at 
Chiraghsaldi  camping-ground — the  furthest  point  reached 
by  Hayward  on  his  march  down  the  river  nearly  twenty 
years  before.  The  river  was  at  this  time  of  the  year 
fordable,  and  ran  over  a level  pebbly  bed,  the  width  of 
the  valley  at  the  bottom  being  three  or  four  hundred 
yards.  All  along  the  bottom  were  patches  of  jungle, 
and  here  and  there  stretches  of  grass  ; but  the  mountain- 
sides were  quite  bare. 

Proceeding  down  the  Yarkand  River,  we  reached,  the 
next  day,  the  ruins  of  half  a dozen  huts  and  a smelting 
furnace  on  a plain  called  Karash-tarim.  There  were  also 
signs  of  furrows,  as  of  land  formerly  cultivated,  and  it 
is  well  known  that  up  to  a comparatively  recent  period, 
certainly  within  eighty  years  ago,  this  valley  of  the 
Yarkand  River  was  inhabited,  and  spots  like  this,  which 
included  about  a hundred  and  fifty  acres  of  arable  land, 
were  cultivated.  The  district  is  known  as  Raskam,  which, 
I was  told,  is  a corruption  of  Rast-kan  (a  true  mine),  a 
name  which  was  probably  given  it  on  account  of  the 
existence  of  mineral  deposits  there.  Both  on  this  journey 
and  another  which  I made  down  this  valley  in  1889,  I 
found  the  remains  of  old  smelting  furnaces  in  several 
places,  and  was  informed  that  copper  was  the  mineral 
extracted.  In  the  Bazardarra  valley,  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  Yarkand  River,  there  are  said  to  be  traces  of  gold. 
The  Kanjuti  raids  were  the  cause  of  the  country  becoming 
depopulated,  and  now  that  these  have  been  effectually 
stopped  by  the  British  Government,  we  may  expect  to 
see  Raskam,  in  future  years,  again  spring  into  life. 

One  march  below  Karash-tarim  the  valley  narrowed 
considerably,  and  high  cliffs  constantly  approached  the 
river,  making  it  necessary  for  us  to  cross  and  recross  it 
frequently.  At  length  it  became  confined  in  a gorge, 
called  the  Khoja  Mohammed  gorge,  and  was  here  shut  in 
between  cliffs  of  enormous  height  and  nearly  perpen- 
dicular. Through  this  gorge  the  river  rushed  with  great 


154  the  heart  of  THE  HIMALAYAS  [chap,  vii 

force,  and,  as  it  was  quite  unfordable,  we  were  brought 
to  a standstill.  We  unloaded  the  ponies,  and  every  man 
of  us  set  to  work  to  make  a road  round  the  base  of  the 
cliff  by  throwing  rocks  and  boulders  into  the  river,  and 
so  building  up  a way.  By  the  next  morning  we  had 
succeeded  in  making  a narrow  pathway  round  the  cliff. 
The  loads  were  first  carried  over  this  ; then  the  ponies 
were  carefully  led  along,  till  at  last  the  whole  party  was 
safely  conveyed  to  the  other  side  of  this  formidable 
obstacle. 

A short  distance  below  this,  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Yarkand  River,  we  struck  a tributary  named  the 
Surakwat,  up  which  led  the  route  to  the  Mustagh  Pass, 
so  we  here  left  the  valley  of  the  Yarkand  River.  For 
a few  hundred  yards  above  the  junction  the  Surakwat 
flows  through  a very  narrow  gorge,  which  the  stream  fills 
up  completely,  and  through  this  gorge  the  guide  now  led 
us,  though  I found,  in  1889,  that  a much  better  road 
led  over  the  top.  The  boulders  over  which  the  torrent 
dashed  were  covered  with  ice,  and  it  was  cruel  work 
taking  the  ponies  up.  They  were  constantly  slipping 
and  falling  back,  cutting  their  hocks  and  knees  to  pieces. 
But  we  got  them  through  without  accident,  and  emerged 
on  to  a wide  plain,  evidently  the  bed  of  a lake,  which 
must  have  been  formed  by  the  rocky  obstacle  we  had 
passed  through  before  the  stream  had  cut  its  way  down 
to  its  present  level  and  thus  afforded  an  outlet  to  the 
dammed-up  waters. 

This  plain,  which  was  covered  with  jungle  of  dwarf 
birch  and  willow  or  poplar,  extended  for  about  two  miles. 
At  a couple  of  miles  from  the  gorge,  and  again  at  about 
nine  miles,  considerable  streams  flow  in  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  Surakwat,  and,  at  a mile  from  the  last,  two 
more  narrow  gorges  were  passed  through  ; though  here 
again,  on  my  journey  up  here  in  1889,  we  succeeded  in 
makincr  a road  round  to  circumvent  them.  It  was  alto- 

o 

gether  a bad  day’s  march  for  both  men  and  ponies,  but 
at  last,  toward  evening,  we  found  the  valley  opening 
to  a wide  plain,  with  plenty  of  scrub  on  it,  and  there  we 


IN  THE  HIMALAYAS 


COLD 


155 


1887] 

encamped.  Before  us  rose  a great  wall  of  snowy  moun- 
tains, with  not  the  very  smallest  sign  of  a pass,  though 
the  guide  said  we  should  have  to  cross  them  on  the 
following  day.  I felt  some  misgivings  on  looking  at 
this  barrier  which  now  stopped  our  way,  for  the  guide 
frankly  confessed  that  he  had  forgotten  the  way  across, 
and  of  course  there  was  no  sign  of  a path  to  guide  us. 
He  said,  however,  that  possibly,  as  we  got  nearer,  he 
might  remember  which  turning  we  should  have  to  take, 
and  with  that  amount  of  consolation  we  had  to  settle 
down  for  the  night. 

We  now  had  our  first  taste  of  real  cold.  We  were 
about  fifteen  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level,  and  as 
soon  as  the  sun  set  one  could  almost  see  the  cold  stealing 
over  the  mountains — a cold  grey  crept  over  the  snows 
and  glaciers,  the  running  streams  became  coated  with 
ice,  and  the  “rustling  night  air”  fell  upon  us.  As  soon 
as  we  had  had  our  dinner — we  always  dined  together,  to 
save  trouble  and  time  in  cooking — and  darkness  had  fairly 
fallen,  we  took  up  our  beddings  from  the  places  where 
we  had  ostentatiously  laid  them  out  to  mislead  any  prowl- 
ing Kanjutis,  and  hurried  off  to  deposit  them  behind  any 
rock  which  would  shelter  us  from  the  icy  wind  which  blew 
down  from  the  mountains.  It  is  a curious  fact,  but  when 
real  difficulties  seem  to  be  closing  around,  your  spirits 
rise.  As  long  as  you  have  health — that  is  the  main  point 
to  look  after,  but  it  is  easily  attained  in  mountain  travel 
— and  provided  that  you  take  plenty  of  food,  difficulties 
seem  only  to  make  you  more  and  more  cheery.  Instead 
of  depressing  you,  they  only  serve  to  brace  up  all  your 
faculties  to  their  highest  pitch  ; and  though,  as  I lay 
down  that  night,  I felt  that  for  the  next  two  or  three 
weeks  we  should  have  harder  and  harder  work  before  us, 
I recollect  that  evening  as  one  of  those  in  all  my  life  in 
which  I have  felt  in  the  keenest  spirits. 

At  the  first  dawn  of  day  on  the  following  morning  we 
were  astir.  The  small  stream  was  frozen  solid,  and  the 
air  bitingly  cold  ; so  we  hurried  about  loading  up,  had 
a good  breakfast,  and,  as  the  sun  rose,  started  off  straight 


156  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS  [chap,  vii 


at  the  mountain  wall — a regular  battlement  of  rocky 
peaks  covered  with  snow,  where  it  was  possible,  but  for 
the  most  part  too  steep  for  snow  to  lie.  After  travelling 
for  three  or  four  miles,  a valley  suddenly  opened  up  to 
the  left.  The  guide  immediately  remembered  it,  and 
said  that  up  it  was  an  easy  pass  which  would  completely 
outflank  the  mountain  barrier.  The  going  was  good.  I 
left  the  ponies,  and  in  my  eagerness  hurried  on  rapidly 
in  front  of  them,  straining  to  see  the  top  of  the  pass,  and 
the  “other  side” — that  will-o’-the-wisp  which  ever  attracts 
explorers  and  never  satisfies  them,  for  there  is  ever 
another  side  beyond.  The  height  was  beginning  to  tell, 
and  the  pass  seemed  to  recede  the  nearer  I approached 
it.  One  rise  after  another  I surmounted,  thinking  it 
would  prove  the  summit,  but  there  was  always  another 
beyond.  The  valley  was  wide  and  open,  and  the  going 
perfectly  easy,  leading  sometimes  over  round  boulders, 
but  more  often  loose  soil.  At  length  I reached  a small 
lake,  about  a quarter  of  a mile  in  length,  and  a small 
rise  above  it  at  the  further  end  was  the  summit  of  the 
pass.  I rushed  up  it,  and  there  before  me  lay  the  “ other 
side,”  and  surely  no  view  which  man  has  ever  seen  can 
excel  that.  To  describe  the  scene  in  words  would  be 
impossible.  There  are  no  words  with  which  to  do  so, 
and  to  attempt  it  with  those  that  are  at  our  disposal  would 
but  stain  its  simple  grandeur  and  magnificence. 

Before  me  rose  tier  after  tier  of  stately  mountains, 
among  the  highest  in  the  world — peaks  of  untainted 
snow,  whose  summits  reached  to  heights  of  twenty-five 
thousand,  twenty-six  thousand,  and,  in  one  supreme  case, 
twenty-eight  thousand  feet  above  sea-level.  There  was 
this  wonderful  array  of  mountain  majesty  set  out  before 
me  across  a deep  rock-bound  valley,  and  away  in  the 
distance,  filling  up  the  head  of  this,  could  be  seen  a vast 
glacier,  the  outpourings  of  the  mountain  masses  which 
give  it  birth.  It  was  a scene  which,  as  I viewed  it,  and 
realised  that  this  seemingly  impregnable  array  must  be 
pierced  and  overcome,  seemed  to  put  the  iron  into  my 
soul  and  stiffen  all  my  energies  for  the  task  before  me. 


i887]  descending  THE  PRECIPICE  157 

Buried  in  the  stirring  feelings  to  which  such  a scene 
gives  rise,  I sat  there  for  more  than  an  hour,  till  the 
caravan  arrived,  and  then  we  slowly  descended  from  the 
pass  into  the  valley  bottom  at  our  feet.  The  way  was 
rough  and  steep,  but  we  reached  the  banks  of  the  river 
without  any  serious  difficulty.  Here,  however,  we  were 
brought  to  a standstill,  for  there  was  a sheer  cliff  of  a 
couple  of  hundred  feet  or  so  in  height  running  far  away 
on  either  hand  along  the  river’s  edge.  This  at  first 
seemed  a serious  obstacle,  but  I had  noticed  on  the  way 
down  some  tracks  of  kyang  (wild  asses),  and  as  there  was 
no  water  above,  I knew  that  these  animals  must  get  down 
to  the  river  to  drink  some  way  or  other,  and  that  where 
they  could  go  we  could  go  also.  I therefore  went  back 
to  these  tracks,  carefully  followed  them  up,  and  was 
relieved  to  find  they  led  down  a practicable  “shoot”  in 
the  cliff.  It  was  very  steep  and  rocky,  but  by  unloading 
the  ponies,  and  putting  one  man  on  to  lead  each  in  front 
and  two  others  to  hold  on  to  the  tail  behind,  we  managed 
to  let  the  ponies  down  one  by  one,  and  after  a good  deal 
of  labour  found  ourselves,  bag  and  baggage,  on  the  edge 
of  a river,  which  in  some  ways  might  be  considered  the 
main  branch  of  the  Yarkand  River. 

This  tributary,  which  the  Balds  with  me  called  the 
Shaksgam,  but  which  the  Kirghiz  seems  to  know  as 
the  Oprang,  was  previously  unknown.  It  rises  among 
the  glaciers  of  the  main  watershed.  Two  years  later  I 
followed  it  down  to  its  junction  with  the  other  branch  of 
the  Yarkand  River. 

Another  geographical  point  of  some  importance  I had 
now  discovered  was,  that  between  the  Kuen-lun  Range 
and  the  main  watershed  which  divides  the  rivers  of 
Turkestan  from  those  flowing  to  India,  and  which  is 
sometimes  called  the  Mustagh  Range  and  sometimes  the 
Karakoram,  there  lies  a subsidiary  range,  over  which 
leads  the  Aghil  Pass,  which  I had  just  crossed.  Hayward 
and  the  members  of  the  Forsyth  Mission,  when  mapping 
the  course  of  the  Yarkand  River,  had  made  the  tributaries 
on  the  southern  side  run  directly  down  from  this  Mustagh 


158  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS  [chap,  vii 

or  Karakoram  Range  ; but  this  was  an  error.  The  tribu- 
taries which  they  met  with  flow  from  the  intermediate 
range,  and  that  and  the  Oprang  River  lie  in  between 
this  northern  branch  of  the  Yarkand  River,  which  they 
explored,  and  the  Mustagh  Mountains. 

A word  now  as  to  the  proper  name  for  the  great  water- 
shed between  Turkestan  and  India.  Why  call  it  the 
Karakoram?  Karakoram  means  “black  gravel,”  and  no 
more  inappropriate  name  could  be  imagined  for  a range 
of  the  highest  snowy  peaks  in  the  world.  The  name 
Karakoram  was  apparently  applied  to  it  because  a pass 
to  the  eastward,  where  there  is  black  gravel,  or  something 
like  it,  is  so  called.  But  there  is  also  a pass  called 
Mustagh  across  the  range.  Mustagh  means  “ice-moun- 
tain,” and  surely  that  is  a far  more  appropriate  name  for 
this  stately  range  of  icy  peaks,  which  form  the  watershed 
of  Asia. 

To  return  to  the  narrative.  We  had  now  reached  the 
waters  of  the  Oprang  River.  This  we  followed  down  for 
a mile  or  two  to  a patch  of  jungle  called  Shaksgam.  The 
valley  bottom  was  here  of  loose  pebbles,  and  from  a 
quarter  to  half  a mile  broad.  The  river  flowed  over  it  in 
several  branches,  and  was  generally  fordable.  On  either 
bank  the  mountains  rose  very  steeply  out  of  the  valley, 
and  were  quite  barren,  except  for  a small  growth  of  the 
hardy  wormwood.  There  were  no  trees,  and  shrubs  or 
bushes  were  only  to  be  found  in  small  patches  along  the 
river-bed. 

Next  day  we  continued  down  the  valley  of  the  Oprang 
(Shaksgam)  River,  till  we  came  to  another,  which  my 
Baltis  called  the  Sarpo  Laggo,  flowing  down  from  the 
main  range  and  joining  it  on  the  left  bank.  This  we 
ascended  till  we  reached  a patch  of  jungle  called  Suget 
Jangal.  Just  before  arriving  there  I chanced  to  look  up 
rather  suddenly,  and  a sight  met  my  eyes  which  fairly 
staggered  me.  We  had  just  turned  a corner  which 
brought  into  view,  on  the  left  hand,  a peak  of  appalling 
height,  which  could  be  none  other  than  K.2,  28,278  feet 
in  height,  second  only  to  Mount  Everest.  Viewed  from 


A GIANT  AMONG  MOUNTAINS 


159 


1887] 

this  direction,  it  appeared  to  rise  in  an  almost  perfect 
cone,  but  to  an  inconceivable  height.  We  were  quite 
close  under  it  — perhaps  not  a dozen  miles  from  its 
summit  — and  here  on  the  northern  side,  where  it  is 
literally  clothed  in  glacier,  there  must  have  been  from 
fourteen  to  sixteen  thousand  feet  of  sold  ice.  It  was  one 
of  those  sights  which  impress  a man  for  ever,  and  produce 
a permanent  effect  upon  the  mind — a lasting  sense  of  the 
greatness  and  grandeur  of  Nature’s  works — which  he  can 
never  lose  or  forget. 

For  some  time  I stood  apart,  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation of  this  wonderful  sight,  and  then  we  marched 
on  past  Suget  Jangal  till  we  reached  the  foot  of  the  great 
glacier  which  flows  down  from  the  Mustagh  Pass.  Here 
we  bivouacked.  The  tussle  with  these  mountain  giants 
was  now  to  reach  its  climax,  and  our  subsequent  adven- 
tures I will  describe  in  a separate  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 


“The  palaces  of  nature,  whose  vast  walls 
Have  pinnacled  in  clouds  their  snowy  scalps, 

And  throned  eternity  in  icy  halls 
Of  cold  sublimity,  where  forms  and  falls 
The  avalanche — the  thunderbolt  of  snow  ! 

All  that  expands  the  spirit,  yet  appals. 

Gather  around  those  summits,  as  to  show 
How  earth  may  reach  to  heaven,  yet  leave  vain  man  below.” 


Byron. 


HE  description  of  the  crossing  of  the  Mustagh  Pass 


X I will  begin  by  quoting  from  the  account  which 
I gave  in  a letter  written  to  my  father  from  the  other  side 
on  my  arrival  in  Kashmir  territory. 

“On  ascending  towards  the  Mustagh  Pass  my  real 
difficulties  began.  Since  my  guides  had  crossed,  an 
immense  glacier  had  advanced,  completely  blocking  up 
the  valley  with  ice  and  immense  boulders.  For  three 
days  I dragged  my  ponies  up  this.  Twice  I gave  it  up, 
and  ordered  the  ponies  to  go  round  by  Ladak,  while 
I went  on  with  a few  men,  and  twice  I resumed  the 
struggle,  till  I got  them  on  to  the  smooth  snow  in  the 
higher  part  of  the  mountain.  It  was  terribly  hard  work. 
From  daybreak  till  after  dark  I was  on  my  legs,  first 
exploring  ahead,  then  returning  and  bringing  on  the 
party  ; and  at  the  great  elevation  we  were  at,  one  gets 
very  much  exhausted.  At  night  I lay  on  the  ground  in 
the  open,  warmly  wrapped  up  in  a sheepskin  bag. 

“On  the  third  day  of  the  ascent  proper,  I sent  two 
men  on  ahead  to  report  on  the  pass.  They  returned  at 
night  to  say  that  the  pass  which  used  to  be  practicable 
for  ponies  was  now  quite  impassable,  owing  to  ice  having 


i6o 


188;]  ON  THE  EDGE  OF  ETERNITY  i6i 

collected,  and  that  the  only  thing  now  was  to  go  by  the 
other  pass  (there  are  two  separate  passes,  the  real  Mus- 
tagh  Pass  and  the  one  ten  miles  to  the  west  of  it,  which 
had  once  been  practicable  for  ponies),  and  bring  back 
a number  of  men  from  the  upper  valleys  of  the  Skardu 
district  to  make  a road  for  the  ponies. 

“The  pass  is  over  the  main  axis  of  the  Himalayas,  and 
divides  the  Chinese  dominions  from  the  British  depen- 
dencies. It  is  also  on  the  watershed  between  the  rivers 
which  flow  into  the  Indian  Ocean  and  those  which  flow 
towards  Turkestan.  So  one  might  expect  something 
of  a pass,  and  it  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  highest  and  most 
difficult  in  the  Himalayas. 

“The  ascent  was  easy  enough,  leading  over  smooth 
snow,  but  we  went  very  slowly  on  account  of  the  diffi- 
culty of  breathing.  On  reaching  the  summit  we  looked 
about  for  a way  down,  but  there  was  nothing  but  a sheer 
precipice,  and  blocks  of  ice  broken  and  tumbled  about  in 
such  a way  as  to  be  quite  impracticable. 

“I  freely  confess  that  I myself  could  never  have 
attempted  the  descent,  and  that  I — an  Englishman — was 
afraid  to  go  first.  Luckily  my  guides  were  better  plucked 
than  myself,  and,  tying  a rope  round  the  leading  man’s 
waist,  the  rest  of  us  hung  on  while  he  hewed  steps  across 
the  ice-slope  which  led  down  to  the  precipice. 

“Step  by  step  we  advanced  across  it,  all  the  time 
facing  the  precipice,  and  knowing  that  if  we  slipped  (and 
the  ice  was  very  slippery)  we  should  roll  down  the  icy 
slope  and  over  the  precipice  into  eternity.  Half-way 
across,  my  Ladaki  servant,  whom  Colonel  Bell  had  sent 
back  to  me  as  a man  thoroughly  acquainted  with  Hima- 
layan travel,  turned  back  saying  he  was  trembling  all 
over  and  could  not  face  the  precipice.  It  rather  upset 
me  seeing  a born  hill-man  so  affected;  but  I pretended 
not  to  care  a bit,  and  laughed  it  off,  pour  encourager  les 
autres,  as  the  thing  had  to  be  done. 

“ After  a time,  and  a very  nasty  time  it  was,  we  reached 
terra  firma  in  the  shape  of  a large  projecting  ledge  of 
rock,  and  from  there  began  the  descent  of  the  precipice. 

M 


i62  the  MUSTAGH  pass  [chap,  viii 

The  icy  slope  was  a perfect  joke  to  this.  We  let  our- 
selves down  very  gradually  from  any  little  ledge  or  pro- 
jecting piece  of  rock.  On  getting  half-way  down,  I heard 
my  Ladaki  servant  appealing  to  me  from  above.  He 
had  mustered  up  courage  to  cross  the  icy  slope,  and  had 
descended  the  precipice  for  a few  steps,  and  was  now 
squatting  on  a rock  salaaming  profusely  to  me  with  both 
hands,  and  saying  he  dare  not  move  another  step,  and 
that  he  would  go  back  and  take  my  ponies  round  by 
Ladak.  So  I sent  him  back. 

“For  six  hours  we  descended  the  precipice,  partly 
rock  and  partly  icy  slope,  and  when  I reached  the  bottom 
and  looked  back,  it  seemed  utterly  impossible  that  any 
man  could  have  come  down  such  a place. 

“For  several  hours  after  we  trudged  on  in  the  moon- 
light over  the  snow,  with  crevasses  every  fifty  yards  or 
so.  Often  we  fell  in,  but  had  no  accident ; and  at  last, 
late  at  night,  we  reached  a dry  spot,  and  I spread  out  my 
rugs  behind  a rock  while  one  of  my  men  made  a small 
fire  of  some  dry  grass  and  a couple  of  alpenstocks  broken 
up  to  cook  tea  by.  After  eating  some  biscuits  with  the 
tea,  I rolled  myself  up  in  my  sheepskin  and  slept  as 
soundly  as  ever  I did.” 

This  rough  description  needs  some  amplification  and 
explanation,  but  I give  it  as  it  stands,  because  it  was 
written  only  a few  days  after  I had  crossed  the  pass,  and 
with  the  memories  of  it  fresh  on  me.  When  we  ascended 
the  valley  of  the  Sarpo  Laggo  stream  towards  the  Mus- 
tagh  Pass,  we  came  to  a point  where  the  valley  was 
blocked  by  what  appeared  to  be  enormous  heaps  of 
broken  stones  and  fragments  of  rock.  These  heaps 
were  between  two  and  three  hundred  feet  in  height,  and 
stretched  completely  across  the  valley.  I was  on  ahead 
by  myself,  and  when  I saw  these  mounds  of  debris,  I 
thought  we  might  have  trouble  in  taking  ponies  over 
such  rough  obstacles  ; but  I was  altogether  taken  aback 
when,  on  coming  up  to  the  heaps,  I found  that  they  were 
masses  of  solid  ice,  merely  covered  over  on  the  surface 
with  a thin  layer  of  this  rocky  debris,  which  served  to 


A VAST  GLACIER 


1887] 


163 


conceal  the  surface  of  the  ice  immediately  beneath.  And 
my  dismay  can  be  imagined  when,  on  ascending  one  of 
the  highest  of  the  mounds,  I found  that  they  were  but 
the  end  of  a series  which  extended  without  interruption 
for  many  miles  up  the  valley  to  the  snows  at  the  foot  of 
the  pass.  We  were,  in  fact,  at  the  extremity  of  an  im- 
mense glacier.  This  was  the  first  time  I had  actually 
been  on  a glacier,  and  I had  never  realised  till  now  how 
huge  and  continuous  a mass  of  ice  it  is.  Here  and  there, 
breaking  through  the  mounds  of  stone,  I had  seen  cliffs 
of  what  I thought  was  black  rock,  but  on  coming  close 
up  to  these  I found  them  to  be  of  solid  dark  green  ice. 
I discovered  caverns,  too,  with  transparent  walls  of  clear, 
clean  ice,  and  enormous  icicles  hanging  like  fringes  from 
the  roof.  It  was  an  astonishing  and  wonderful  sight ; but 
I was  destined  to  see  yet  more  marvellous  scenes  than  this 
in  the  icy  region  upon  which  I was  now  entering. 

To  take  a caravan  of  ponies  up  a glacier  like  this 
seemed  to  me  an  utter  impossibility.  The  guides  thought 
so  too,  and  I decided  upon  sending  the  ponies  round  by 
the  Karakoram  Pass  to  Leh,  and  going  on  myself  over 
the  Mustagh  Pass  with  a couple  of  men.  This  would 
have  been  a risky  proceeding,  for  if  we  did  not  find  our 
way  over  the  pass  we  should  have  scarcely  enough  pro- 
visions with  us  to  last  till  we  could  return  to  an  in- 
habited place  again.  Supplies  altogether  were  running 
short,  and  the  longer  we  took  in  reaching  the  pass,  the 
harder  we  should  fare  if  we  did  not  succeed  in  getting 
over  it.  But  while  I was  deciding  upon  sending  the 
ponies  back,  the  caravan  men  were  gallantly  leading 
them  up  the  glacier.  I rejoined  the  men,  and  we  all 
helped  the  ponies  along  as  well  as  we  could  ; hauling  at 
them  in  front,  pushing  behind,  and  sometimes  unloading 
and  carrying  the  loads  up  the  stone-covered  mounds  of 
ice  ourselves.  But  it  was  terribly  hard  and  trying  work 
for  the  animals.  They  could  get  no  proper  foothold,  and 
as  they  kept  climbing  up  the  sides  of  a mound  they  would 
scratch  away  the  thin  layer  of  stones  on  the  surface,  and 
then,  coming  on  to  the  pure  ice  immediately  below,  would 


164 


THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 


[chap.  VIIl 

slip  and  fall  and  cut  their  knees  and  hocks  about  in  a way 
which  much  distressed  me.  I did  not  see  how  this  sort  of 
thing  could  last.  We  had  only  advanced  a few  hundred 
yards,  and  there  were  from  fifteen  to  twenty  miles  of 
glacier  ahead.  I therefore  halted  the  ponies  for  the  day, 
and  went  on  with  a couple  of  men  to  reconnoitre.  We 
fortunately  found,  in  between  the  glacier  and  the  moun- 
tain side,  a narrow  stretch  of  less  impracticable  ground, 
along  which  it  would  be  possible  to  take  the  ponies.  This 
we  marked  out,  and  returned  to  our  bivouac  after  dark. 

That  night  we  passed,  as  usual,  in  the  open,  thoroughly 
exhausted  after  the  hard  day’s  work,  for  at  the  high  alti- 
tudes we  had  now  reached  the  rarefaction  of  the  air  makes 
one  tired  very  quickly,  and  the  constant  tumbling  about 
on  the  slippery  glacier  in  helping  the  ponies  over  it  added 
to  one’s  troubles. 

At  daybreak  on  the  following  morning  we  started  again, 
leading  the  ponies  up  the  route  we  had  marked  out ; but 
a mile  from  the  point  where  our  previous  exploration  had 
ended  we  were  confronted  by  another  great  glacier  flowing 
down  from  the  left.  We  now  had  a glacier  on  one  side 
of  us,  mountains  on  the  other,  and  a second  glacier  right 
across  our  front.  At  this  time  my  last  remaining  pair  of 
boots  were  completely  worn  out,  and  my  feet  so  sore  from 
the  bruises  they  received  on  the  glacier  I could  scarcely 
bear  to  put  them  to  the  ground.  So  I stayed  behind  with 
the  ponies,  while  two  men  went  on  to  find  a way  through 
the  obstacles  before  us.  The  men  returned  after  a time, 
and  said  they  could  find  no  possible  way  for  the  ponies ; 
but  they  begged  me  to  have  a look  myself,  saying  that 
perhaps  by  my  good  fortune  I might  be  able  to  find  one. 

I accordingly,  with  a couple  of  men,  retraced  my  steps 
down  the  edge  of  the  main  glacier  for  some’ little  distance, 
till  we  came  to  a point  where  it  was  possible  to  get  ponies 
on  to  the  glacier  and  take  them  into  the  middle  of  it.  We 
then  ascended  a prominent  spot  on  the  glacier,  from  which 
we  could  obtain  a good  view  all  round.  We  were  in  a sea 
of  ice.  There  was  now  little  of  the  rocky  moraine  stuff 
with  which  the  ice  of  the  glacier  had  been  covered  in  its 


1887]  THE  TWO  MUSTAGH  PASSES  165 

lower  part,  and  we  looked  out  on  a vast  river  of  pure 
white  ice,  broken  up  into  myriads  of  sharp  needle-like 
points.  Snowy  mountains  rose  above  us  on  either  hand, 
and  down  their  sides  rolled  the  lesser  glaciers,  like  clotted 
cream  pouring  over  the  lip  of  a cream  jug  ; and  rising 
forbiddingly  before  us  was  the  cold  icy  range  we  should 
have  to  cross. 

This  was  scarcely  the  country  through  which  to  take  a 
caravan  of  ponies,  but  I made  out  a line  of  moraine  ex- 
tending right  up  the  main  glacier.  We  got  on  to  this,  and, 
following  it  up  for  some  distance,  found,  to  our  great 
relief,  that  it  would  be  quite  possible  to  bring  ponies  up 
it  on  to  the  smooth  snow  of  the  neve  at  the  head  of  the 
glacier.  Having  ascertained  this  beyond  a doubt,  we 
returned  late  in  the  afternoon  towards  the  spot  where  we 
had  left  our  ponies.  Darkness  overtook  us  before  we 
reached  it.  We  wandered  about  on  the  glacier  for  some 
time,  and  nearly  lost  our  way;  but  at  last,  quite  worn  out, 
reached  our  caravan  once  more. 

That  night  we  held  a council  of  war  as  to  which  of  the 
two  Mustagh  Passes  we  should  attack.  There  are  two 
passes,  known  as  the  Mustagh,  which  cross  the  range. 
One,  to  the  east,  that  is  to  our  left  as  we  were  ascending 
the  glacier,  is  known  as  the  Old  Mustagh  Pass,  and  was 
in  use  in  former  days,  till  the  advance  of  ice  upon  it  made 
it  so  difficult  that  a new  one  was  sought  for  and  what  is 
known  as  the  New  Mustagh  Pass,  some  ten  miles  further 
west  along  the  range,  had  been  discovered.  It  was  over 
this  latter  pass  that  the  guides  hoped  to  conduct  our  party. 
They  said  that  even  ponies  had  been  taken  across  it  by 
means  of  ropes  and  by  making  rough  bridges  across  the 
crevasses.  No  European  had  crossed  either  of  them,  but 
Colonel  Godwin-Austen,  in  1862,  reached  the  southern 
foot  of  the  new  pass  in  the  course  of  his  survey  of 
Baltistan.  The  New  Mustagh  Pass  seemed  the  more 
promising  of  the  two,  and  I therefore  decided  upon  send- 
ing two  men  on  the  following  morning  to  reconnoitre  it 
and  report  upon  its  practicability. 

At  the  first  streak  of  daylight  the  reconnoitrers  set  out, 


THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 


1 66 


[chap.  VIII 


and  the  remainder  of  us  afterwards  followed  with  the 
ponies  along  the  route  which  we  had  explored  on  the 
previous  day.  We  took  the  ponies  up  the  glacier  without 
any  serious  difficulty,  and  in  the  evening  halted  close  up 
to  the  head  of  the  glacier.  At  dusk  the  two  men  who  had 
been  sent  out  to  reconnoitre  the  new  pass  returned,  to  say 
that  the  ice  had  so  accumulated  on  it  that  it  would  be  now 
quite  impossible  to  take  ponies  over,  and  that  it  would  be 
difficult  even  for  men  to  cross  it.  The  plan  which  they 
now  suggested  was  to  leave  the  ponies  behind,  and  cross 
the  range  by  the  Old  Mustagh  Pass,  push  on  to  Askoli, 
the  first  village  on  the  south  side  of  the  range,  and  from 
there  send  back  men  with  supplies  for  the  ponies  and  the 
men  with  them  sufficient  to  enable  the  caravan  to  reach 
Shahidula,  on  the  usual  trade  route  between  Yarkand  and 
Kashmir.  This  was  evidently  all  we  could  do.  We  could 
not  take  the  ponies  any  further,  and  we  could  not  send 
them  back  as  they  were,  for  we  had  nearly  run  out  of 
supplies,  and  Shahidula,  the  nearest  point  at  which  fresh 
supplies  could  be  obtained,  was  one  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  distant.  All  now  depended  upon  our  being  able  to 
cross  the  pass.  If  we  were  not  able  to,  we  should  have 
to  march  this  one  hundred  and  eighty  miles  back  through 
the  mountains  with  only  three  or  four  days’  supplies  to 
support  us.  We  might  certainly  have  eaten  the  ponies, 
so  would  not  actually  have  starved  ; but  we  should  have 
had  a hard  struggle  for  it,  and  there  would  still  have  been 
the  range  to  cross  at  another  point. 

Matters  were  therefore  approaching  a very  critical 
stage,  and  that  was  an  anxious  night  for  me.  I often 
recall  it,  and  think  of  our  little  bivouac  in  the  snow  at  the 
foot  of  the  range  we  had  to  overcome.  The  sun  sank 
behind  the  icy  mountains,  the  bright  glow  disappeared 
from  them,  and  they  became  steely  hard  while  the  grey 
cold  of  night  settled  shimmering  down  upon  them.  All 
around  was  pure  white  snow  and  ice,  breathing  out  cold 
upon  us.  The  little  pools  and  streamlets  of  water  which 
the  heat  of  the  sun  had  poured  off  the  glacier  during  the 
day  were  now  gripped  by  the  frost,  which  seemed  to  creep 


CAMP  ON  THE  GLACIER,  MUSTAGH  PASS 


To  face  page  i66 


’ r :-i-  ' » . 

.•  ^ pr-  n*  ' ‘ pt 

■ ' V 


I 


1887] 


THE  SUMMIT  OF  THE  PASS 


167 


around  ourselves  too,  and  huddle  us  up  together.  We 
had  no  tent  to  shelter  us  from  the  biting  streams  of  air 
flowing  down  from  the  mountain  summits,  and  we  had 
not  sufficient  fuel  to  light  a fire  round  which  we  might  lie. 
We  had,  indeed,  barely  enough  brushwood  to  keep  up  a 
fire  for  cooking;  but  my  Chinese  servant  cooked  a simple 
meal  of  rice  and  mutton  for  us  all.  We  gathered  round 
the  fire  to  eat  it  hot  out  of  the  bowl,  and  then  rolled  our- 
selves up  in  our  sheepskins  and  went  to  sleep,  with  the 
stars  twinkling  brightly  above,  and  the  frost  gripping 
closer  and  closer  upon  us. 

Next  morning,  while  it  was  yet  dark,  Wali,  the  guide, 
awoke  us.  We  each  had  a drink  of  tea  and  some  bread, 
and  then  we  started  off  to  attack  the  pass.  The  ponies, 
with  nearly  all  the  baggage,  were  left  behind  under  the 
charge  of  Liu-san,  the  Chinamen,  and  some  of  the  older 
men.  All  we  took  with  us  was  a roll  of  bedding  for  myself, 
a sheepskin  coat  for  each  man,  some  native  biscuits,  tea 
and  a large  tea-kettle,  and  a bottle  of  brandy.  The  ascent 
to  the  pass  was  easy  but  trying,  for  we  were  now  not  far 
from  nineteen  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  and  at  that 
height,  walking  uphill  through  deep  snow,  one  quickly 
becomes  exhausted.  We  could  only  take  a dozen  or 
twenty  steps  at  a time,  and  we  would  then  bend  over  on 
our  sticks  and  pant  as  if  we  had  been  running  hard  up- 
hill. We  were  tantalised,  too,  by  the  apparent  nearness 
of  the  pass.  Everything  here  was  on  a gigantic  scale, 
and  what  seemed  to  be  not  more  than  an  hour’s  walk  from 
the  camp  was  in  fact  a six  hours’  climb.  It  was  nearly 
midday  when  we  reached  the  top  of  the  pass,  and  what  we 
saw  there  I have  already  related  in  the  letter  quoted  above. 
There  was  nothing  but  a sheer  precipice,  and  those  first 
few  moments  on  the  summit  of  the  Mustagh  Pass  were 
full  of  intense  anxiety  to  me.  If  we  could  but  get  over, 
the  crowning  success  of  my  expedition  would  be  gained. 
But  the  thing  seemed  to  me  simply  an  impossibility. 
I had  had  no  experience  of  Alpine  climbing,  and  I had  no 
ice-axes  or  other  mountaineering  appliances  with  me.  I 
had  not  even  any  proper  boots.  All  I had  for  footgear 


THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 


1 68 


[chap.  VIII 


were  some  native  boots  of  soft  leather,  without  nails  and 
without  heels — mere  leather  stockings,  in  fact — which  gave 
no  sort  of  grip  upon  an  icy  surface.  How,  then,  I should 
ever  be  able  to  get  down  the  icy  slopes  and  rocky  preci- 
pices I now  saw  before  me  I could  not  think;  and  if  it  had 
rested  with  me  alone,  the  probability  is  we  never  should 
have  got  over  the  pass  at  all. 

What,  however,  saved  our  party  was  my  holding  my 
tongue.  I kept  quite  silent  as  I looked  over  the  pass,  and 
waited  to  hear  what  the  men  had  to  say  about  it.  They 
meanwhile  were  looking  at  me,  and,  imagining  that  an 
Englishman  never  went  back  from  an  enterprise  he  had 
once  started  on,  took  it  as  a matter  of  course  that,  as  I 
gave  no  order  to  go  back,  I meant  to  go  on.  So  they  set 
about  their  preparations  for  the  descent.  We  had  brought 
an  ordinary  pickaxe  with  us,  and  Wali  went  on  ahead 
with  this,  while  the  rest  of  us  followed  one  by  one  behind 
him,  each  hanging  on  to  a rope  tied  round  Wali’s  waist 
to  support  him  in  case  he  slipped  while  hewing  steps 
across  the  ice-slope.  This  slope  was  of  hard  ice,  very 
steep,  and,  thirty  yards  or  so  below  the  line  we  took, 
ended  in  an  ice-fall,  which  again  terminated  far  beneath 
in  the  head  of  a glacier  at  the  foot  of  the  pass.  Wali  with 
his  pickaxe  hewed  a way  step  by  step  across  the  ice-slope, 
so  as  to  reach  the  rocky  cliff  by  which  we  should  have  to 
descend  on  to  the  glacier  below.  We  slowly  edged  across 
the  slope  after  him,  but  it  was  hard  to  keep  cool  and 
steady.  From  where  we  stood  we  could  see  nothing  over 
the  end  of  the  slope  but  the  glacier  many  hundreds  of  feet 
below  us.  Some  of  the  men  were  so  little  nervous  that 
they  kicked  the  fragments  of  ice  hewed  out  by  Wali 
down  the  slope,  and  laughed  as  they  saw  them  hop 
down  it  and  with  one  last  bound  disappear  altogether. 
But  an  almost  sickening  feeling  came  on  me  as  I watched 
this,  for  we  were  standing  on  a slope  as  steep  as  the  roof 
of  a house.  We  had  no  ice-axes  with  which  to  anchor 
ourselves  or  give  us  support ; and  though  I tied  handker- 
chiefs, and  the  men  bits  of  leather  and  cloth,  round  the 
insteps  of  our  smooth  native  boots,  to  give  us  a little  grip 


1887]  THE  BEGINNING  OF  TRIALS  169 

on  the  slippery  ice,  I could  not  help  feeling  that  if  any 
one  of  us  had  lost  his  foothold,  the  rest  of  us  would  never 
have  been  able  to  hold  him  up  with  the  rope,  and  that  in 
all  likelihood  the  whole  party  would  have  been  carried 
away  and  plunged  into  the  abyss  below.  Outwardly  I 
kept  as  cool  and  cheerful  as  I could,  but  inwardly  I 
shuddered  at  each  fresh  step  I took.  The  sun  was  now 
pouring  down  on  to  the  ice,  and  just  melted  the  surface  of 
the  steps  after  they  were  hewn,  so  that  by  the  time  those 
of  us  who  were  a few  paces  behind  Wali  reached  a step, 
the  ice  was  just  covered  over  with  water,  and  this  made  it 
still  more  slippery  for  our  soft  leather  boots,  which  had 
now  become  almost  slimy  on  the  surface.  It  was  under 
these  circumstances  that  my  Ladaki  servant  Drogpa  gave 
in.  He  was  shaking  all  over  in  an  exaggerated  shiver, 
and  so  unsteady,  I thought  he  would  slip  at  any  moment, 
and  perhaps  carry  us  all  with  him.  We  were  but  at  the 
beginning  of  our  trials.  We  had  not  even  begun  the 
actual  descent  yet,  but  were  merely  crossing  to  a point 
from  which  we  should  make  it.  It  was  dangerous  to  have 
such  a man  with  us,  so  I told  him  he  might  return  to  the 
ponies  and  go  round  with  them. 

At  last  we  reached  the  far  side  of  the  slope,  and  found 
ourselves  on  a projecting  piece  of  rock  protruding  through 
the  ice.  Here  we  could  rest,  but  only  with  the  prospect 
of  still  further  difficulties  before  us.  We  were  at  the  head 
of  the  rocky  precipice,  the  face  of  which  we  should  have 
to  descend  to  reach  the  ice-slopes  which  extended  to  the 
glacier  at  the  foot  of  the  pass.  At  such  heights  as  those 
which  we  had  now  reached,  where  the  snow  and  ice  lie 
sometimes  hundreds  of  feet  thick,  it  is  only  where  it  is 
very  steep  that  the  bare  rock  shows  through.  The  cliff 
we  had  now  to  descend  was  an  almost  sheer  precipice  : its 
only  saving  feature  was  that  it  was  rough  and  rugged, 
and  so  afforded  some  little  hold  for  our  hands  and  feet. 
Yet  even  then  we  seldom  got  a hold  for  the  whole  hand  or 
whole  foot.  All  we  generally  found  was  a little  ledge, 
upon  which  we  could  grip  with  the  tips  of  the  fingers  or 
side  of  the  foot.  The  men  were  most  good  to  me,  when- 


THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 


170 


[chap.  VIII 


ever  possible  guiding  my  foot  into  some  secure  hold,  and 
often  supporting  it  there  with  their  hands  ; but  at  times  it 
was  all  I could  do  to  summon  sufficient  courage  to  let  my- 
self down  on  to  the  veriest  little  crevices  which  had  to  sup- 
port me.  There  was  a constant  dread,  too,  that  fragments 
of  these  ledges  might  give  way  with  the  weight  upon 
them  ; for  the  rock  was  very  crumbly,  as  it  generally  is 
when  exposed  to  severe  frosts,  and  once  I heard  a shout 
from  above,  as  a huge  piece  of  rock  which  had  been 
detached  came  crashing  past  me,  and  as  nearly  as 
possible  hit  two  of  the  men  who  had  already  got  half-way 
down. 

We  reached  the  bottom  of  the  cliff  without  accident, 
and  then  found  ourselves  at  the  head  of  a long  ice-slope 
extending  down  to  the  glacier  below.  Protruding 
through  the  ice  were  three  pieces  of  rock,  which  would 
serve  us  as  successive  halting-places,  and  we  determined 
upon  taking  a line  which  led  by  them.  We  had  brought 
with  us  every  scrap  of  rope  that  could  be  spared  from 
the  ponies’  gear,  and  we  tied  these  and  all  the  men’s 
turbans  and  waist-cloths  together  into  one  long  rope, 
by  which  we  let  a man  down  the  ice-slope  on  to  the  first 
projecting  rock.  As  he  went  down  he  cut  steps,  and 
when  he  had  reached  the  rock  we  tied  the  upper  end 
of  the  rope  firmly  on  to  a rock  above,  and  then  one  by 
one  we  came  down  the  slope,  hanging  on  to  the  rope 
and  making  use  of  the  steps  which  had  been  cut.  This 
was,  therefore,  a comparatively  easy  part  of  the  descent ; 
but  one  man  was  as  nearly  as  possible  lost.  He  slipped, 
fell  over  on  his  back,  and  came  sliding  down  the  slope  at 
a frightful  pace.  Luckily,  however,  he  still  managed  to 
keep  hold  of  the  rope  with  one  hand,  and  so  kept  himself 
from  dashing  over  the  ice-fall  at  the  side  of  the  slope  ; 
but  when  he  reached  the  rock  his  hand  was  almost  bared 
of  skin,  and  he  was  shivering  with  fright.  Wali,  how- 
ever, gave  him  a sound  rating  for  being  so  careless,  and 
on  the  next  stage  made  him  do  all  the  hardest  part  of 
the  work. 

The  other  men  got  down  the  slope  without  mishap,  and 


CROSSING  AN  ICE-SLOPE  ON  THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 


SAFETY  AT  LAST 


1887] 


171 


then  came  the  last  man.  He,  of  course,  could  not  have 
the  benefit  of  a rope  to  hang  on  by,  for  he  would  have  to 
untie  it  from  the  rock  and  bring  it  with  him.  Wali  had 
selected  for  this,  the  most  dangerous  piece  of  work  in  the 
whole  descent,  the  man  who  had  especially  troubled  me 
by  knocking  pieces  of  ice  over  the  precipice  when  we 
were  on  the  ice-slope  at  the  head  of  the  pass.  He  was 
one  of  the  slaves  I had  released  at  Yarkand;  an  incessant 
grumbler,  and  very  rough,  but,  next  to  Wali,  the  best 
man  I had  for  any  really  hard  work.  He  tied  the  end 
of  the  rope  round  his  waist,  and  then  slowly  and  carefully 
came  down  the  steps  which  had  been  hewn  in  the  slope. 
We  at  the  end  of  the  rope  pulled  it  in  at  every  step  he 
took,  so  that  if  he  slipped,  though  he  might  fall  past  us, 
we  should  be  able  to  haul  in  the  rope  fast,  and  so  perhaps 
save  him  from  the  ice-fall.  He  reached  our  rock  of  refuge 
in  safety,  and  we  then  in  the  same  manner  descended  two 
more  stages  of  the  ice-slope,  and  finally  reached  a part 
where  the  slope  was  less  steep,  and  we  could  proceed 
without  cutting  steps  the  whole  way. 

At  last,  just  as  the  sun  set,  we  reached  the  glacier  at 
the  foot  of  the  pass.  We  were  in  safety  once  more.  The 
tension  was  over,  and  the  last  and  greatest  obstacle  in 
my  journey  had  been  surmounted.  Those  moments 
when  I stood  at  the  foot  of  the  pass  are  long  to  be 
remembered  by  me — moments  of  intense  relief,  and  of 
deep  gratitude  for  the  success  that  had  been  granted. 
Such  feelings  as  mine  were  now  cannot  be  described 
in  words,  but  they  are  known  to  every  one  who  has 
had  his  heart  set  on  one  great  object  and  has  accom- 
plished it.  I took  one  last  look  at  the  pass,  never  before 
or  since  seen  by  a European,  and  then  we  started  away 
down  the  glacier  to  find  some  bare  spot  on  which  to  lay 
our  rugs  and  rest. 

The  sun  had  now  set,  but,  fortunately  for  us,  there  was 
an  abundance  of  light,  and  the  night  was  marvellously 
beautiful,  so  that,  tired  as  I was,  I could  not  but  be 
impressed  by  it.  The  moon  was  nearly  full,  the  sky 
without  a cloud,  and  in  the  amphitheatre  of  snowy  moun- 


172  THE  MUSTAGH  PASS  [chap,  viii 

tains  and  among  the  icy  seracs  of  the  glacier,  not  one 
speck  of  anything  but  the  purest  white  was  visible.  The 
air  at  these  altitudes,  away  from  dust  and  with  no  misty 
vapour  in  it,  was  absolutely  clear,  and  the  soft  silvery 
rays  of  the  moon  struck  down  upon  the  glistening 
mountains  in  unsullied  radiance.  The  whole  effect  was  of 
some  enchanting  fairy  scene  ; and  the  sternness  of  the 
mountains  was  slowly  softened  down  till  lost,  and  their 
beauty  in  its  purest  form  alone  remained. 

With  our  senses  enervated  by  such  a scene  as  this,  and 
overcome  with  delight  as  we  were  at  having  successfully 
crossed  the  pass,  we  pushed  on  down  the  glacier  in  a 
dreamy,  careless  way,  perfectly  regardless  of  the  dangers 
which  lay  hidden  round  us.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances we  should  have  proceeded  cautiously  down  a 
glacier  which,  beautiful  though  it  was,  had  its  full  share 
of  crevasses ; and  it  was  only  when  I turned  round  and 
found  one  man  missing,  that  I realised  how  negligent  we 
had  been.  We  retraced  our  steps,  and  found  the  poor 
fellow  had  dropped  down  a crevasse,  the  mouth  of  which 
had  been  covered  with  a thin  coating  of  ice  and  snow, 
which  had  given  way  under  his  weight,  so  that  he  had 
dropped  through.  Very  fortunately,  the  crevasse  was 
not  wide,  and  after  falling  about  fifteen  feet,  he  had 
been  wedged  in  between  the  two  sides  by  the  load  of 
my  bedding  which  he  was  carrying  ; so  by  letting  a rope 
down  we  were  able  to  extricate  him  in  safety.  This 
taught  us  a lesson,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  way  we  went 
along  roped  together,  as  we  ought  to  have  been  from  the 
first,  and  tested  each  step  as  we  advanced. 

I now  kept  in  rear,  and  the  man  with  my  bedding  was 
in  front  of  me.  As  we  were  closed  up  during  a temporary 
halt,  I detected  a strong  smell  of  brandy  coming  from  the 
bundle  of  bedding.  A distracting  thought  occurred  to 
me.  I tore  open  the  bundle,  and  there  was  my  last  bottle 
of  brandy  broken  ! Lady  Walsham,  on  my  leaving 
Peking,  had  insisted  upon  giving  me  at  least  two  bottles 
of  brandy  for  the  journey.  I had  drunk  one  in  the  Gobi 
Desert,  and  I made  up  my  mind  to  keep  the  other  till  the 


THE  BALTORO  GLACIER 


173 


1887] 

day  I had  crossed  the  Mustagh  Pass,  but  here  it  was 
broken,  and  the  brandy  wasted,  just  when  both  the  men 
and  myself  were  really  needing  something  to  pull  us 
together.  The  bundle  of  bedding  had  been  thrown  over 
the  pass  to  save  carrying  it  down,  and  though  the  bottle 
had  been  wrapped  up  in  my  sheepskin  sleeping-bag,  it 
had  been  smashed  to  pieces. 

About  eleven  o’clock  we  at  last  reached  a piece  of 
ground  on  the  mountain-side  free  from  snow,  and  here 
we  halted  for  the  night.  There  was  no  wood,  and  only  a 
few  roots  of  weeds  about  with  which  to  light  a fire,  so  we 
had  to  break  up  a couple  of  our  alpenstocks  to  make  a 
small  fire,  by  which  we  managed  to  boil  sufficient  water 
to  make  a few  cups  of  tea.  We  had  some  biscuit  with 
that,  and  then  I got  into  my  sheepskin  bag,  and  the  men 
wrapped  themselves  up  in  their  sheepskin  coats,  and  we 
lay  down  and  slept  as  if  nothing  could  ever  wake  us 
again.  The  work  and  anxiety  on  the  last  few  days  had 
been  very  great,  and  on  this  day  we  had  been  on  the 
move  for  eighteen  hours  continuously.  Now  the  worst 
was  over,  and  we  slept  proportionately  to  the  work  we 
had  been  doing. 

But  at  daybreak  the  next  morning  we  were  on  our  legs 
again.  We  had  still  a long  way  to  go  before  we  could 
reach  Askoli,  the  nearest  village,  and  our  men  remaining 
behind  on  the  pass  were  waiting  for  supplies.  We  had 
to  start  without  anything  to  warm  us,  for  we  could  find 
no  materials  for  a fire  ; but  at  about  ten  o’clock,  at  a 
point  near  where  our  glacier  joined  the  great  Baltoro 
glacier,  we  found  an  old  hut,  built  at  the  time  when  this 
route  was  in  use,  and  from  the  fragments  of  wood  about 
we  made  up  our  first  good  fire,  and  had  a fairly  sub- 
stantial meal.  But  we  could  not  indulge  ourselves  at  all 
freely,  for  we  were  very  short  of  provisions.  We  had 
left  with  the  men  on  the  pass  all  but  just  sufficient  to 
carry  us  through  to  Askoli,  and  a few  mouthfuls  of  meat, 
with  some  biscuit  and  some  tea,  were  all  we  could  allow 
ourselves.  Having  eaten  this  and  rested  for  an  hour,  we 
again  pushed  on,  and  struck  the  Baltoro  glacier  nearly 


174 


THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 


[chap,  VIII 

opposite  the  great  Masher  Brum  peak,  which  stands  up 
over  twenty-five  thousand  feet  high  just  across  the  glacier. 
Then,  turning  to  our  left  in  the  opposite  direction  to 
Askoli,  we  could  see  far  away  up  this,  the  largest  moun- 
tain glacier  in  the  world,  other  peaks,  of  even  greater 
height,  rising  like  snowy  spires  in  the  distance.  There 
are  four  peaks  over  twenty-six  thousand  feet  at  the  head 
of  the  Baltoro  glacier,  and  away  to  our  left,  though 
hidden  from  us,  was  the  peak  K.2.  Five  years  after- 
wards, Sir  William  Conway’s  party  explored  the  entire 
length  of  the  glacier,  and  ascended  a peak  twenty-three 
thousand  feet  in  height  at  its  head ; but,  fascinating 
though  it  would  have  been  to  have  wandered  among 
these  mountain  giants,  in  a region  unsurpassed  for 
sublimity  and  grandeur  by  any  in  the  world,  I could 
only  now  think  of  reaching  an  inhabited  spot  again  as 
rapidly  as  possible. 

We  turned  to  the  right,  then  down  the  glacier,  keeping 
along  the  moraine  close  to  the  mountain-side.  This  and 
the  two  following  were  days  of  agony  to  me,  for  my  native 
boots  were  now  in  places  worn  through  till  the  bare  skin 
of  my  foot  was  exposed,  and  I had  to  hobble  along  on  my 
toes  or  my  heels  to  keep  the  worn-out  part  by  the  balls  of 
my  feet  from  the  sharp  stones  and  rocky  debris  of  the 
glacier.  On  account  of  this  tenderness  of  my  feet,  I was 
always  slipping,  too,  falling  and  bruising  my  elbows, 
or  cutting  my  hands  on  the  rough  stones  in  trying  to  save 
myself. 

All  that  day  we  plodded  wearily  along  down  the  glacier, 
till  at  sunset  we  came  upon  a little  clump  of  fir  trees  on  the 
mountain-side.  Here  we  were  able  to  make  up  as  big 
a fire  as  we  wished,  and  if  we  could  only  have  had  more 
to  eat,  would  have  been  perfectly  happy ; but  there  was 
now  no  meat  left,  and  tea  and  biscuit  was  all  we  had 
to  eat.  Next  day  we  reached  the  end  of  the  glacier,  and 
here  I had  an  unpleasant  little  accident.  A strong  gush- 
ing stream  was  flowing  out  of  the  glacier,  and  this  we  had 
to  cross.  It  was  more  than  waist-deep,  and  filled  with 
blocks  of  ice  from  the  glacier.  I had  no  change  of  clothes. 


ASKOLI 


175 


1887] 

and  when  good  old  Shukar  All — a faithful  attendant,  who 
afterwards  accompanied  me  on  two  other  journeys — volun- 
teered to  carry  me  over  on  his  back,  I could  not  resist  the 
temptation  of  what  I thought  would  be  a dry  passage. 
But  half-way  over  Shukar  Ali  slipped  ; in  struggling  to 
save  himself  he  kept  pushing  me  under  water,  till  I was 
nearly  drowned,  and  when  I reached  the  opposite  side  of 
the  stream  I was  numbed  through  with  cold.  We  halted 
for  an  hour  while  I got  into  my  sleeping-bag,  and  my 
clothes  were  spread  out  in  the  sun  to  dry,  and  then  we 
pushed  on  again  down  a narrow  rock-bound  valley.  At 
night  we  slept  in  a cave,  and  next  day  made  our  last 
march  into  Askoli.  Never  did  I think  we  were  going 
to  reach  that  spot.  By  midday  we  saw  its  green  trees  and 
fields  in  the  distance  ; but  I could  only  get  along  slowly, 
as  the  way  was  very  rough  and  stony.  At  last,  however, 
at  four  o’clock,  we  did  reach  it.  We  sent  for  the  headman, 
and  told  him  to  bring  us  some  food.  A bed  was  brought 
me  to  lie  on,  and  then,  with  a stewed  fowl  and  some  rice 
to  eat,  fresh  life  and  energy  came  into  me. 

But  that  was  a dirty  little  village  ! The  trees  and  the 
fields  looked  fresh  and  green,  but  the  houses  and  the 
inhabitants  were  repulsively  dirty ; and  the  latter  by  no 
means  well-disposed.  These  mountain  people  are  dread- 
fully nervous  about  strangers.  They  had  thought  the 
way  into  their  country  from  the  north  was  entirely  closed, 
and  they  did  not  at  all  welcome  this  proof  that  it  was  not. 
Wali,  the  guide,  was  himself  a native  of  this  village, 
which  he  had  left  some  thirty  years  before.  Another  of 
my  men  also  belonged  to  it.  But  they  said  they  feared 
these  people  would  do  some  injury  to  them  for  having 
shown  me  the  way,  and  they  kept  by  me  constantly,  and 
left  the  village  with  me,  subsequently  returning  to  Yark- 
and by  Leh  and  the  Karakoram  Pass,  instead  of  directly 
by  the  Mustagh  Pass,  as  they  might  have  done. 

Immediately  after  we  had  had  something  to  eat,  we  set 
about  preparing  to  send  back  supplies  to  the  men  and 
ponies  on  the  pass.  With  great  difficulty  we  induced  the 
people  to  do  this ; and  on  the  following  day  a party  was 


176 


THE  MUSTAGH  PASS 


[chap.  VIII 

started  off  back  towards  the  Mustagh  Pass.  They  took 
with  them  ropes  and  poles,  and  though  three  men  were 
badly  injured  in  doing  so,  they  succeeded  in  crossing  the 
pass  and  giving  my  men  the  needful  supplies. 

I would  now  willingly  have  had  a rest,  but,  though 
I could  not  start  on  the  day  following  our  arrival,  for 
I was  seriously  unwell  from  having,  in  the  excess  of  my 
hunger,  eaten  too  much  of  the  messy  greasy  dishes  the 
inhabitants  had  provided  for  me,  on  the  day  after  that  I 
set  out  to  try  the  other  Mustagh  Pass — what  is  called  the 
New  Mustagh  Pass.  It  was  depressing,  just  as  I had 
reached  the  first  village  on  the  Indian  side,  to  have  to 
turn  my  back  on  India  ; but  I did  not  like  to  leave  this 
pass  untried,  and  with  Wali  and  a party  of  men  from 
Askoli  we  set  out  on  the  second  day  after  our  arrival 
to  explore  it. 

These  men  of  Askoli  were  in  dread  of  the  mountains, 
and  on  the  first  evening,  at  the  foot  of  a mountain  whose 
summit  was  supposed  to  be  the  abode  of  a guardian  deity, 
they,  although  Mohammedans,  sacrificed  a bullock  to 
this  deity,  and  prayed  and  salaamed  to  it.  As  they  sub- 
sequently ate  the  bullock,  and  as  I paid  for  it,  this  little 
ceremony  was  doubtless  very  helpful  to  them.  At  any 
rate,  they  were  much  more  cheerful  after  it,  and  as  I now 
had  some  new  foot-gear,  we  were  able  to  push  along 
rapidly  up  the  Punmah  glacier.  But  on  the  third  day 
from  Askoli,  opposite  a camping-ground  called  Skinmang, 
we  were  brought  to  a standstill.  At  this  point  the  glacier 
flowing  down  from  the  New  Mustagh  Pass  joins  the  Pun- 
mah glacier,  and  we  were  completely  “cornered  ” between 
the  two  glaciers.  To  reach  the  pass  we  should  have  had 
to  cross  the  glacier  flowing  down  from  it ; but  this  we 
found  it  impossible  to  do,  for  just  at  this  point  there  had 
evidently  been  an  immense  ice-slip  on  to  the  glacier,  and 
gigantic  blocks  of  ice  were  tumbled  about  one  on  the  top 
of  the  other,  in  a way  which  made  it  perfectly  impossible 
to  get  any  footing  at  all  on  the  glacier.  So  we  turned 
round  and  faced  for  Askoli  once  more. 

I think  now  of  that  wonderful  glacier  region,  and  the 


CROSSING  A ROPE  BRIDGE 


177 


1887] 

amphitheatre  of  snowy  peaks  at  the  head  of  the  Punmah 
glacier,  and  recall  all  the  marvellous  beauties  of  a scene 
such  as  can  only  be  witnessed  in  a few  rarely  visited  spots 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  but  at  the  time  my  thoughts  were 
almost  entirely  directed  towards  India.  I was  wearied 
out  by  my  struggle  with  the  mountains,  and  longed  to  be 
free  of  them  and  at  rest  once  more. 

On  the  day  after  our  return  to  Askoli,  the  men  who  had 
been  sent  by  the  Old  Mustagh  Pass  to  the  party  with  the 
ponies  arrived  back  also.  They  had  handed  over  the 
supplies  to  them,  and  Liu-san,  Drogpa,  and  the  rest  had 
started  off  to  take  the  ponies  round  by  the  Karakoram 
Pass  to  Leh.  Having  satisfied  myself  about  this,  I set 
out  by  double  marches  for  Kashmir  and  the  Punjab. 
Just  beyond  Askoli  we  had  to  cross  one  of  those  rope 
bridges  so  common  in  the  Himalayas.  A rope  bridge 
is  made  of  three  thick  ropes  of  plaited  birch-twigs.  In 
crossing,  you  tread  on  one  and  support  yourself  by  the 
other  two,  one  on  each  side.  This  particular  bridge  led 
across  a narrow  rocky  chasm,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the 
river  from  the  Baltoro  rushed  foaming  along.  It  was 
certainly  a disagreeable  place  to  have  to  cross,  but  I was 
astonished  to  find  that  Wali,  the  man  who  had  crossed 
the  Mustagh  Pass  without  the  slightest  sign  of  nervous- 
ness, and  certainly  without  any  hesitation,  absolutely 
refused  at  first  to  cross  this  bridge.  To  me  it  seemed  such 
a paltry  thing,  after  what  we  had  so  recently  gone  through, 
and  with  two  ropes  to  hang  on  by  there  seemed  no  danger 
at  all ; but  Wali  shivered  and  shook,  and  could  only  be 
induced  to  come  over  when  he  had  two  men  to  support 
him.  This  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  instances  I have 
met  with  of  a man,  who  had  no  fear  when  faced  by  one 
form  of  danger,  being  totally  taken  aback  when  faced  by 
another. 

We  then  followed  down  the  valley  of  the  Braldo  River 
till  it  joined  the  open  Shigar  valley,  and  here  at  last  I 
was  able  to  mount  a pony  again,  and,  instead  of  plodding 
wearily  along,  to  travel  in  comfort  and  enjoy  the  wonder- 
ful scenery  around  me.  How  great  a difference  one’s 


N 


178  THE  MUSTAGH  PASS  [chap,  viii 

mere  animal  feelings  make  in  the  ability  to  appreciate 
the  beauties  of  nature  ! Worn  and  tired  out,  it  was  only 
something  unusually  striking  that  had  produced  any  im- 
pression upon  me,  and  I would  pass  by  peaks  of  marvel- 
lous grandeur  with  only  a weary  upward  glance  at  them, 
and  sometimes  even  a longing  that  they  had  never 
existed  to  bar  my  Avay  and  keep  me  from  my  journey’s 
end.  But  now,  seated  on  the  back  of  a pony — miserable 
little  animal  though  it  was — I had  no  longer  that  load  of 
weariness  weighing  upon  me,  and  could  quietly  drink 
in  all  the  pleasure  which  looking  on  that  glorious  moun- 
tain scenery  gives. 

The  Shigar  valley  is  from  two  to  three  miles  broad  ; 
its  bottom  is  covered  over  with  village  lands,  where 
apricot  trees  are  grown  in  hundreds,  and  these  apricot 
trees  now,  in  the  autumn  season,  were  clothed  in  foliage 
of  every  lovely  tint  of  red  and  purple  and  yellow.  This 
mass  of  bright  warm  foliage  filled  the  valley  bottom,  then 
above  it  rose  the  bare  rugged  mountain-sides,  and  crown- 
ing these  the  everlasting  snows.  The  sun  shone  out  in 
an  unclouded,  deep-blue  sky ; the  icy  blasts  of  the  Mus- 
tagh  were  left  behind  for  good  and  all  ; and  we  were  in 
an  ideal  climate,  with  no  extremes  of  either  heat  or  cold 
to  try  us.  The  grave,  anxious  look  on  the  men’s  faces 
passed  away ; they  now  stepped  cheerily  along  by  my 
side,  chaffing  over  all  the  difficulties  they  had  gone 
through,  and,  at  each  village  we  came  to,  taking  a fill  of 
dried  apricots  and  grapes  and  walnuts,  so  plentiful  in 
this  fruitful  valley. 

The  country  we  were  now  in  was  Baltistan,  the  inhabit- 
ants of  which — called  Baltis — are  a patient,  docile, 
good-natured  race,  whom  one  hardly  respects,  but  whom 
one  cannot  help  liking  in  a compassionate,  pitying  way. 
The  poor  Baltis  belong  to  one  of  those  races  which  have 
gone  under  in  the  struggle  of  nations.  In  their  better 
days  they  are  said  to  have  been  able  to  fight  well ; but 
their  fighting-days  are  past.  They  could  not  resist  the 
Dogra  invasion  ; and  now  they  are  ruled  by  a foreign 
race,  and  because  they  are  such  good  carriers,  and  be- 


ROI’E  BRIDGE  To  face  page  1 78 


1887]  WALI  AND  THE  BALTIS  179 

cause  the  roads  through  their  own  and  the  adjoining 
countries  are  so  bad,  it  has  fallen  out  that  they  are  em- 
ployed more  and  more  for  carrying  purposes,  till  the 
patient,  long-suffering  Balti  coolie  has  become  a well- 
known  feature  in  the  valleys  of  this  frontier.  There  is 
little  that  is  strong  or  masculine  about  the  Balti  to  cause 
one  to  admire  him,  but  yet  one  likes  him  for  his  very 
patience  and  the  ease  with  which  he  can  be  pleased. 
And  among  these  Balds  I have  employed,  have  been 
some  for  whom  I have  borne  respect  for  their  intense 
devotion  to  what  they  believed  to  be  their  duty.  I now 
was  on  the  eve  of  parting  with  those  five  who  brought 
me  over  the  Mustagh  Pass,  and  for  Wali,  their  headman, 
I entertain  a regard  such  as  I do  for  few  other  men. 
I picture  him  now  as  he  was  first  brought  before  me  at 
the  inn  at  Yarkand — a short,  thick-set  man,  with  an  iron- 
grey  beard,  a prominent,  rather  hooked  nose,  and  an 
expression  of  determination  and  proud  indifference  to 
danger  about  his  chin  and  underlip.  Asked  if  he  were 
willing  to  conduct  me  over  the  Mustagh  Pass,  he  replied 
that  he  did  not  want  to  go,  but  if  he  were  really  required 
he  would  undertake  to  guide  me  ; the  only  condition  he 
would  make  would  be  that  I should  not  look  at  a map. 
He  had  heard  Englishmen  were  rather  inclined  to  guide 
themselves  and  trust  the  map  rather  than  the  man  with 
them  ; if  I was  going  to  do  that,  I might,  but  he  would 
not  go  with  me.  On  the  other  hand,  if  I would  trust 
him,  he  would  take  me  safely  over.  On  this  understand- 
ing I engaged  him.  No  one  could  have  more  loyally 
carried  out  his  compact,  and  but  for  him  we  should  never 
have  been  able  to  cross  the  Mustagh  Pass.  He  went  to 
work  in  a steady,  self-reliant  way  which  gave  every  one 
confidence,  and  all  the  men  looked  up  to  him  and  obeyed 
him  implicitly.  The  more  I see  of  men  like  him,  the 
more  convinced  I am,  that  weak  in  many  respects  though 
such  men  as  these  Baltis  are,  yet  if  once  they  are  given 
responsibility,  shown  trust,  and  left  to  work  out  their 
own  salvation,  they  develop  many  latent  qualities  which 
probably  neither  they  nor  anybody  else  believed  to  be  in 


i8o  THE  MUSTAGH  PASS  [chap,  viii 

them.  Old  Wall  went  back  to  Yarkand  by  Leh,  and 
three  years  later,  when  I again  visited  Yarkand,  he  came 
to  see  me,  looking  precisely  the  same,  and  dressed,  I be- 
lieve, in  the  very  same  clothes  as  when  we  had  parted, 
and  it  was  a real  pleasure  to  see  again  a man  who  had 
done  me  such  loyal  service. 

Another  of  the  Baltis  who  had  done  excellent  work 
was  the  slave  whose  release  I had  purchased  at  Yarkand. 
He  was  a wild-looking  character,  but  the  hardest-work- 
ing man  I have  known.  Now  that  he  had  regained  his 
freedom,  was  being  liberally  paid,  and  was  on  his  way 
home,  he  did  not  mind  how  much  work  he  did,  and  all 
through  the  march  from  Yarkand  he  behaved  splendidly. 
We  passed  by  his  native  village  one  day  as  we  were 
marching  through  Baltistan,  and  left  him  there.  But  on 
the  following  day  he  caught  us  up  again,  carrying  an 
immense  load  of  fruit  and  provision  for  a big  dinner  for 
the  men.  He  had  brought  all  this  twelve  miles,  and  he 
came  and  kissed  my  hands  and  feet,  and  said  he  could 
not  allow  us  to  go  away  without  showing  how  grateful 
he  felt.  These  Baltis  are  a warm-hearted  people  when 
once  their  deeper  feelings  can  be  reached,  and  when 
their  hearts  have  not  been  crushed  out  of  them  by  that 
fatal  load-carrying,  and  I parted  from  my  faithful 
followers  with  sincere  regret. 

A march  or  two  after  passing  Skardu,  the  chief  place 
in  Baltistan,  I met  the  first  European  on  the  south  side 
of  the  Himalayas.  He  was  not  an  Englishman,  but  a 
Frenchman,  M.  Dauvergne  ; and  in  his  tent  I had  the 
first  good  meal  and  talk  in  English  I had  had  for  many 
a month.  A few  marches  further  on  I met  another  Euro- 
pean. This  one  at  any  rate,  I thought,  must  be  an 
Englishman,  and  I walked  up  to  him  with  all  the  eager- 
ness a traveller  has  to  meet  a countryman  of  his  own 
after  not  seeing  one  for  nearly  seven  months.  But  this 
time  it  turned  out  the  stranger  was  a Russian  ! He 
announced  himself  as  M.  Nicolas  Notovitch,  an  adven- 
turer who  had,  I subsequently  found,  made  a not  very 
favourable  reputation  in  India.  I asked  M.  Notovitch 


1887]  “PIONEERS  OF  THE  EAST”  181 

where  he  had  come  from,  and  he  replied  that  he  had  come 
from  Kashmir.  He  then  asked  me  where  I had  come 
from.  I said  from  Peking.  It  much  amused  me,  there- 
fore, when  on  leaving  he  said,  in  a theatrical  way,  “We 
part  here,  the  pioneers  of  the  East ! ” 

This  same  M.  Notovitch  afterwards  published  what  he 
calls  a new  Life  of  Christy  which  he  professes  to  have 
found  in  a monastery  in  Ladak,  after  he  had  parted  from 
me.  No  one,  however,  who  knows  M.  Notovitch’s 
reputation,  or  who  has  the  slightest  knowledge  of  the 
subject,  will  give  any  reliance  whatever  to  this  pretentious 
volume. 

On  the  day  after  leaving  M.  Notovitch  I crossed  my 
last  pass,  the  Zoji-la,  eleven  thousand  four  hundred  feet 
high.  It  was  perfectly  easy,  and  then  on  descending  the 
southern  side  we  found  all  the  mountain-sides  covered 
with  forest.  The  change  from  the  bare  hillsides  on  the 
north  was  most  striking  and  pleasant.  Hitherto,  from  far 
away  at  their  rise  from  the  Yarkand  plains,  the  mountains 
had  been  barren  and  destitute  of  any  trace  of  forest. 
Occasionally  in  some  favoured  sheltered  spot  a dwarfed 
tree  or  two  might  be  seen,  but  as  a whole  it  was  only 
in  the  valley  bottoms  and  on  cultivated  lands  that  any 
trees  were  met  with.  Now  of  a sudden  all  was  changed. 
We  had  reached  the  southern-facing  slopes  of  the  out- 
ward ridge  of  the  Himalayas,  and  upon  these  slopes  all 
the  rains  of  the  monsoon  are  expended,  while  none  is  left 
to  reach  the  parched  hill-slopes  beyond.  Consequently 
the  mountains  on  the  one  side  of  the  water  are  densely 
packed  with  forest,  and  on  the  other  are  bare  sun-baked 
rocks  only. 

We  passed  rapidly  down  the  beautifully  wooded  Sind 
valley,  with  its  meadows  and  pine  forests,  its  rushing 
torrents  and  snow-clad  mountain  summits,  and  at  last 
reached  the  open  valley  of  Kashmir  itself.  Some  seven 
or  eight  miles’  march  through  this  brought  us  to  Srinagar, 
that  most  picturesquely  situated  but  dirtiest  of  towns, 
and  then  for  the  first  time  I realised  how  very  dirty  I 
myself  was,  and  how  rough  I had  become.  Dressed  in 


i82  the  MUSTAGH  pass  [chap,  viii 

a Yarkand  sheepskin  coat  and  long  Yarkand  boots,  and 
with  a round  Tam-o’-shanter  cap  as  the  only  European 
article  of  dress  about  me,  and  with  a rough  beard,  and 
my  face  burnt  by  exposure  in  the  desert  and  cut  and 
reddened  by  the  cold  on  the  glaciers,  I was  addressed  by 
the  people  of  the  place  as  a Yarkandi.  My  first  care, 
therefore,  was  to  go  off  to  one  of  the  native  shops  which 
provide  all  necessaries  for  Europeans,  and  purchase  a 
knickerbocker  suit,  such  as  officers  wear  out  shooting  in 
Kashmir,  and  a clean  shirt,  and  to  have  my  hair  cut, 
my  beard  shaved  off,  and  to  get  a good  wash.  When 
I had  expended  nearly  two  hours  upon  these  prepara- 
tions for  my  plunge  into  civilisation,  I went  to  see 
Captain  Ramsay,  the  political  agent  on  duty  at  Srinagar 
at  the  time.  It  was  very  trying,  therefore,  when  Captain 
Ramsay,  almost  immediately  after  shaking  hands,  said, 
“Wouldn’t  you  like  to  have  a wash?”  This  was  the 
first  of  the  many  shocks  I had  on  returning  to  civilisation. 

But  there  were  some  pleasant  surprises  as  well  as  a 
disagreeable  shock  like  this,  and  I remember  the  satis- 
faction I felt  at  receiving  a telegram  at  Srinagar,  con- 
veying to  me  the  congratulations  of  Sir  Frederick 
Roberts  upon  my  having  successfully  accomplished  the 
journey,  and  a very  kind  letter  from  General  Chapman, 
then  Quartermaster-General  in  India,  who  had  himself 
been  to  Yarkand  and  Kashgar,  and,  knowing  how 
welcome  they  are  to  travellers,  had  thoughtfully  sent  a 
box  of  cigars  to  await  my  arrival. 

Only  one  day  was  given  up  for  rest  in  Srinagar,  and 
then  I started  on  the  last  stage  of  my  journey,  that  to 
Rawal  Pindi  ; for  I was  anxious  to  accomplish  my  task 
in  precisely  the  seven  months  which  I had  said  at  Peking 
would  be  the  time  necessary  for  it.  So  I pushed  on, 
and  now  at  the  end  of  a very  long  journey  I was  feeling 
“fitter”  than  when  I started,  and  able  to  cover  the 
distance  rapidly.  After  arriving  at  a dak  bungalow  at 
seven  o’clock  on  the  evening  of  November  2,  I had  my 
dinner,  lay  down  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  then  at  twelve 
o’clock  at  night  started  again  walking  the  first  march  of 


1887]  THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY  183 

twelve  miles;  then  got  into  an  “ekka,”  or  native  cart, 
which  conveyed  me  for  three  marches  down  the  newly 
constructed  cart-road.  At  the  end  of  these  three  marches 
I rode  another  ten  miles  uphill  towards  Murree,  and 
arrived  at  a dak  bungalow  at  sunset.  Here  I rested, 
and  at  three  o’clock  in  the  morning  started  again,  march- 
ing the  ten  miles  into  Murree  on  foot.  From  there  I 
took  a tonga,  and  drove  rapidly  down  the  hill  the  last 
thirty-nine  miles  into  Rawal  Pindi.  The  change  was 
wonderful.  I had  thought  riding  a miserable  little  native 
pony  luxury  in  comparison  with  the  weary  marching  on 
foot.  Then  the  trundling  along  at  a jog-trot  in  a native 
cart  on  the  Kashmir  road  had  seemed  the  very  essence 
of  all  that  was  comfortable  in  travelling.  But  now  I was 
in  a conveyance  with  a pair  of  ponies  galloping  down 
the  hill,  and  with  what  seemed  perfect  rest  to  me  I was 
covering  every  hour  three  or  four  times  the  distance  I 
had  been  able  to  accomplish  on  foot,  and,  still  better, 
I was  freeing  myself  from  the  nightmare  of  the  moun- 
tains, and,  in  place  of  the  continual  barrier  after  barrier 
of  mountain  ranges  blocking  the  way  and  shutting  me 
in,  there  were  stretched  out  before  me  the  wide  plains  of 
the  Punjab.  From  the  plains  of  Turkestan  on  the  one 
side,  I had  made  my  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  moun- 
tains, over  one  range  after  another,  past  each  succeeding 
obstacle,  till  I had  now  reached  the  plains  on  the 
southern  side.  My  whole  long  journey  from  Peking  was 
at  an  end.  My  utmost  hopes  had  been  fulfilled,  and  I 
had  reached  that  destination  which,  as  I rode  out  of  the 
gates  of  Peking,  had  seemed  so  remote  and  inaccessible. 

On  April  4 I left  Peking,  and  on  November  4 I drove 
up  to  the  messhouse  of  my  regiment  at  Rawal  Pindi. 
Two  days  later  I reached  Simla,  and  saw  Colonel  Bell, 
from  whom  I had  parted  at  Peking,  and  who,  travelling 
more  rapidly  than  I,  had  reached  India  a month  before. 
To  him,  therefore,  belongs  the  honour  of  being  the  first 
European  to  reach  India  from  China  by  land.  Poor 
Liu-san,  the  Chinese  servant,  arrived  six  weeks  later 
with  the  ponies,  which  we  had  been  obliged  to  send  back 


i84  the  MUSTAGH  PASS  [chap,  viii 

from  the  Mustagh  Pass  round  by  the  Karakoram  and 
Leh.  He  was  suffering  badly  from  pleurisy,  brought  on 
by  exposure  ; but  when  he  was  sufficiently  recovered  he 
was  sent  back  to  China  by  sea,  and  he  afterwards  accom- 
panied the  persevering  American  traveller,  Mr.  Rockhill, 
to  Tibet.  He  was  a Chinaman,  and  therefore  not  a 
perfect  animal,  but  he  understood  his  business  thoroughly, 
and  he  did  it.  So  for  a journey  across  the  entire  breadth 
of  the  Chinese  Empire  I could  scarcely  have  found  a 
better  man.  As  long  as  he  felt  that  he  was  “running” 
me,  and  that  it  was  his  business  to  convey  me,  like  a 
bundle  of  goods,  from  one  side  of  China  to  the  other,  he 
worked  untiringly.  And  the  success  of  the  journey  is  in 
no  small  degree  due  to  this  single  servant,  who  had  not 
feared  to  accompany  me  throughout. 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  RAIDS  FROM  HUNZA 


“ Are  not  the  mountains,  waves,  and  skies  a part 
Of  me  and  of  my  soul,  as  I of  them  ? 

Is  not  the  love  of  these  deep  in  my  heart 
With  a pure  passion  ? should  I not  contemn 
All  objects,  if  compared  with  these?  and  stem 
A tide  of  suffering’,  rather  than  forego 
Such  feelings  for  the  hard  and  worldly  phlegm 
Of  those  whose  eyes  are  only  turn'd  below. 

Gazing  upon  the  ground,  with  thoughts  which  dare  not  glow?” 

Byron. 

IN  the  spring  of  1889,  the  exploring  fever  came  strong 
on  me  again,  and,  seeking  the  advice  of  Mr.  Ney 
Elias,  a journey  across  Tibet,  by  much  the  same  route  as 
that  afterwards  so  successfully  explored  by  Captain  Bower, 
was  suggested  to  me.  I had  begun  to  think  over  details 
for  this  and  plan  out  the  journey,  when  my  hopes  were 
utterly  shattered  by  the  stern  refusal  of  my  commanding 
officer  to  allow  me  to  go,  and  I was  left  in  despair  to  while 
away  the  dreary  hot-weather  months  in  an  Indian  canton- 
ment, spending  hour  after  hour  in  looking  out  for  micro- 
scopic atoms  of  dust  on  my  men’s  uniforms  or  saddlery, 
and  in  watching  horses  being  groomed  and  fed  and 
watered.  But  just  when  I was  most  despairing,  a ray  of 
hope  came.  A telegram  was  put  in  my  hands,  which 
proved  to  be  from  the  Foreign  Office  at  Simla,  asking 
me  to  undertake  an  exploration  on  the  northern  frontier 
of  Kashmir.  Here  was  the  very  chance  I had  been 
longing  for.  I went  straight  up  to  Simla  to  see  the 
foreign  secretary.  Sir  Mortimer  Durand,  and  receive 
instructions  regarding  my  mission. 

In  describing  my  journey  from  Yarkand  to  Kashmir 

185 


i86  THE  RAIDS  FROM  HUNZA  [chap,  ix 

in  the  last  two  chapters,  I have  referred  to  a tribe  of 
raiders  who  inhabit  the  little  state  of  Hunza  (or  Kanjut, 
as  it  is  always  called  on  the  Yarkand  side),  which  is 
situated  to  the  north  of  Kashmir.  Deep-set  among  the 
mountains,  accessible  only  by  lofty  snowy  passes  or 
through  narrow  impracticable  defiles,  the  little  state  had 
bred  and  harboured  a race  of  men  who,  issuing  from 
the  mountain  fastnesses,  had  raided  incessantly  upon 
all  the  countries  round.  The  traders  on  the  road  from 
Yarkand  to  India  continually  suffered  from  these  wild 
freebooters  ; the  peace-loving  inhabitants  of  the  Yarkand 
valleys  were  ever  subject  to  their  attacks,  and  compelled 
to  hand  them  over  blackmail  ; the  nomadic  Kirghiz, 
scattered  defenceless  in  their  tents  over  the  open  valleys 
of  the  Pamirs,  had  to  pay  their  “tribute,”  or  suffer  the 
consequences  of  refusal ; the  Kashmir  troops  at  Gilgit 
dreaded  their  attacks ; and  even  the  poor  Baltis  in 
distant  and  inaccessible  Askoli  shuddered  at  the  thought 
of  them.  No  one  could  get  at  these  wild  Hunza  raiders^, 
secure  as  they  were  in  their  impenetrable  valleys,  but 
they  could  strike  at  every  one  round  them. 

In  the  autumn  of  1888— the  year  after  I had  crossed 
the  Mustagh  Pass — these  robbers  had  made  an  unusually 
daring  attack  upon  a large  caravan,  and  had  carried  off 
a number  of  Kirghiz  from  Shahidula,  on  the  Yarkand 
road.  The  Kirghiz  had  applied  to  the  Chinese  for  pro- 
tection against  such  raids,  but  had  been  refused  it,  and 
they  thereupon,  in  the  spring  of  1889,  made  a similar 
petition  to  the  British  authorities.  It  was  to  inquire  into 
and  report  upon  the  circumstances  of  this  raid,  and  to 
examine  all  the  country  between  the  trade  route  and 
Hunza,  with  a view  to  stopping  such  raids  for  the  future, 
that  I was  now  to  be  sent  by  the  Government  of  India. 
I was  to  take  a small  guard  of  six  Gurkhas  with  me,  and 
a native  surveyor,  and  the  Kirghiz  who  had  brought  the 
petition  in  to  Leh  was  to  await  my  arrival  there,  and 
accompany  me  to  Shahidula.  Sir  Mortimer  Durand  kept 
continually  begging  me  to  ask  for  anything  which  could 
possibly  assist  me,  and  showed  a sympathy  in  the  enter- 


MY  GURKHA  ESCORT 


187 


1889] 

prise  which  greatly  encouraged  me  in  carrying  it  out. 
On  the  night  before  I started,  he  said,  “It  is  very  easy 
for  me,  sitting  comfortably  in  my  drawing-room  here, 
to  ask  you  to  go  and  do  a thing  of  this  sort ; but  you 
must  not  imagine  that  I do  not  fully  realise  all  the  hard- 
ships and  difficulties  you  will  encounter  ; so  ask  me  for 
anything  you  like  that  can  possibly  help  you  along.” 

The  hardships  and  difficulties,  I think,  he  more  than 
realised,  for  my  experience  is  that  they  appear  far  worse 
in  a drawing-room  than  anywhere  else  ; but  I was  made 
to  feel,  at  any  rate,  that  I had  his  sympathy,  and  that 
was  ample  encouragement  for  me  to  do  the  utmost  to 
justify  the  confidence  that  had  been  reposed  in  me.  My 
preparations  did  not  take  long,  for  we  were  now  in  July, 
and  it  is  only  in  the  summer  and  autumn  months  that  it 
is  possible  to  travel  in  the  mountains  which  had  now  to 
be  explored,  and  arrangements  had  accordingly  to  be 
made  as  rapidly  as  possible.  On  July  5 I left  Simla, 
spent  a few  days  at  Rawal  Pindi  collecting  camp 
equipage,  stores,  etc.,  and  then,  on  July  ii,  went  to 
Abbottabad  to  inspect  the  six  men  of  the  5th  Gurkhas 
who  had  been  selected  to  go  with  me.  I was  taken  down 
to  the  orderly  room  of  the  regiment,  and  there  saw  the 
six  men  drawn  up,  each  with  a little  heap  of  clothing 
and  equipment  beside  him,  and  with  a crowd  of  envious 
Gurkhas  gazing  at  them,  while  they  themselves  were 
looking  preternaturally  solemn,  though  it  was  evident 
that  on  the  smallest  provocation  they  would  go  off  into 
the  broadest  of  chuckles.  Each  of  them  was  receiving 
a free  issue  of  special  warm  clothing,  a waterproof  sheet, 
a great-coat,  etc.  ; they  were  to  have  extra  pay  while 
away,  and  they  were  to  lead,  for  the  next  few  months,  a 
free,  wild  life,  with  the  chance  of  a fight,  perhaps,  before 
they  got  back  again  ; so  no  wonder  they  were  pleased 
with  themselves  and  envied  by  their  comrades.  Having 
found  that  everything  had  been  satisfactorily  arranged, 
and  that  they  themselves  and  all  their  equipment  were, 
as  far  as  could  be  seen,  in  proper  working  trim,  I packed 
them  off  in  ekkas  to  Kashmir,  and  they  drove  away  from 


i88  THE  RAIDS  FROM  HUNZA  [chap,  ix 

the  regimental  lines  with  broad  grins  on  their  jolly, 
round  faces,  hugely  delighted. 

Meanwhile,  I had  to  go  round  by  Murree  to  pick  up 
my  own  kit.  I had  been  travelling  in  the  train  and  in 
the  tonga  by  road  to  Abbottabad  all  the  night,  and  now, 
before  evening,  I had  a forty-mile  ride  into  Murree.  But 
it  was  a delightful  trip  amid  the  most  lovely  scenery, 
as  the  road  passed  along  near  the  crest  of  a pine-clad 
ridge,  with  long  vistas  over  the  plains  of  the  Punjab  on 
the  one  side,  and  here  and  there  on  the  other  side 
glimpses  through  the  beautiful  deodars  of  the  snowy 
ranges  of  Kashmir,  and  once  of  the  distant  Nanga 
Parbat — the  Naked  Mountain — standing  out  over  twenty- 
six  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  a true  monarch  of  the 
mountains. 

One  day  I spent  in  Murree,  and  then  finally  started  on 
my  journey,  catching  up  my  little  Gurkhas  on  the  follow- 
ing day  at  the  then  terminus  of  the  cart-road,  five  marches 
from  Murree.  It  was  necessary  to  push  my  party  along 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  so  I mounted  the  Gurkhas  on 
ponies  and  made  them  do  double  marches.  A Gurkha 
is  not  at  home  on  the  back  of  a pony.  He  is  made  for 
climbing  hills,  and  not  for  riding.  And  these  little  men 
were  not  at  all  happy  at  first,  but  they,  at  any  rate,  found 
it  better  than  walking  twenty-five  miles  a day  in  the  hot- 
house atmosphere  of  the  Jhelum  valley  in  July. 

While  they  marched  up  this  valley  and  then  crossed 
the  Wular  Lake  in  boats  to  the  entrance  of  the  Sind 
valley,  down  which  I had  come  two  years  before  on  my 
way  from  Peking,  I went  to  see  the  British  Resident, 
Colonel  Parry  Nisbet,  from  whom,  on  this  as  on  many 
another  occasion,  I received  not  only  that  help  which  I 
might  expect  officially,  but  also  that  thoughtful  con- 
sideration which  was  more  like  what  a father  gives  his 
son  than  what  an  official  gives  his  subordinate.  Then 
I once  more  rejoined  my  escort,  and  Shahzad  Mir,  a 
sowar  of  the  nth  Bengal  Lancers,  who  was  to  accompany 
me  as  orderly  and  surveyor,  when  surveying  was  to  be 
done,  having  also  now  caught  us  up,  our  party  was 


LADAK 


i8g 


i88g] 

complete.  And  no  one  could  have  wished  for  a better 
little  party — the  six  sturdy  little  Gurkhas,  grim  and  stern 
when  any  business  had  to  be  done,  but  round  the  camp 
fire  and  off  duty  cheery  and  jolly,  for  ever  chaffing  one 
another  and  roaring  with  laughter  ; and  Shahzad  Mir, 
a different  man  altogether,  but  equally  good,  not  jovial 
like  a Gurkha,  but  a Pathan,  grave  and  serious,  and 
with  his  mind  thoroughly  set  on  the  business  in  hand 
and  determined  to  do  it  well.  I used  to  talk  to  the  men 
on  the  march,  and  tell  them  that  I had  been  through  the 
mountains  before  and  knew  that  there  was  a rough  time 
before  us.  The  jolly  Gurkhas  laughed  and  said,  “All 
right,  sahib;  we  don’t  mind.”  If  they  were  to  have  a 
rough  time,  they  would  get  through  it  somehow  or  other 
when  the  time  came  ; in  the  meanwhile  they  meant  to 
enjoy  themselves  thoroughly.  The  Pathan  knit  his  brows 
and  prepared  himself  there  and  then  for  the  struggle  if 
there  was  to  be  one,  and  told  me  that  he  only  wanted  a 
chance  of  making  a name  for  himself,  and  if  he  could  do 
well  on  this  occasion  perhaps  I should  be  able  to  get  him 
promotion.  My  story  will  show  how  faithfully  these  men 
served  me,  and  I was  delighted  with  my  first  real  exper- 
ience of  the  native  troops  of  India. 

Crossing  the  Zoji-la,  the  last  of  the  passes  on  my  way 
from  Peking,  we  left  behind  us  all  the  wooded  beauties 
of  Kashmir,  its  shady  pine  forest  and  bright  flowery 
meadows,  and  entered  that  desolate  region  of  barren 
mountains  and  unshaded  valleys,  where  the  sun  beat 
down  upon  the  unprotected  rocks  and  produced  a degree 
of  heat  which  would  never  have  been  expected  at  altitudes 
of  nine  thousand  feet  and  over,  and  which  made  still 
more  trying  the  cold  blasts  which,  when  the  sun  had  set, 
came  down  from  the  snow  above.  We  were  entering 
Ladak,  an  offshoot  of  Tibet,  and  the  only  redeeming 
feature  in  the  country  was  the  picturesqueness  of  its 
monasteries,  perched  high  upon  every  prominent  rock. 
As  regards  its  natural  scenery,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
find  any  more  dreary-looking  country  than  Ladak.  Its 
mountains,  though  lofty,  are  not  grand  or  rugged,  but 


igo  THE  RAIDS  FROM  HUNZA  [chap,  ix 

resemble  a monotonous  succession  of  gigantic  cinder- 
heaps.  But  the  Buddhist  monasteries,  the  fluttering 
prayer-flags,  the  chortens,  and  the  many  other  signs  of 
a religion  almost  totally  unrepresented  in  India,  gave 
the  country  a charm  which  just  relieved  it  from  utter 
condemnation.  These  signs  of  Buddhist  life  have  many 
times  before  been  described,  so  I need  only  refer  here  to 
the  long  rows  of  what  appeared  to  be  immense  graves, 
overlaid  with  hundreds  of  slabs,  each  engraved  with  the 
formula,  “ Om  mane  padme  hum”  (“Oh!  the  jewel  of 
the  lotus  ”),  the  talismanic  prayer  which  the  devotees  of 
this  religion  believe  will  produce  more  and  more  bene- 
ficent results  the  oftener  it  is  repeated ; the  many-coloured 
flags  fluttering  in  the  breeze  inscribed  with  the  same 
magic  formula,  and  breathing  with  each  new  flutter  one 
fresh  prayer  to  heaven  ; the  dirty,  yellow-clad  monks, 
with  their  shaven  heads,  their  string  of  beads  round  their 
necks,  and  their  prayer-wheels  reeling  off  a prayer  with 
each  successive  revolution.  All  these  are  well-known 
characteristics  of  Buddhist  life,  and  require  only  a pass- 
ing reference  here.  I admired  their  picturesqueness  and 
wondered  at  the  quaintness  of  such  superstitions,  but 
had  no  time  to  study  in  detail  the  particular  phase  the 
Buddhist  religion  has  taken  in  this  far-away  corner  of 
Tibet. 

We  travelled  rapidly  through  the  country,  and  on 
July  31  reached  its  principal  place,  Leh.  In  twenty  days 
our  party  had  travelled  just  over  four  hundred  miles,  and 
crossed  one  pass  of  eleven  thousand  and  three  of  thirteen 
thousand  feet — all,  however,  very  easy.  On  entering  Leh 
I was  met  by  old  Shukar  Ali,  the  only  Ladaki  who  had 
come  across  the  Mustagh  Pass.  Hearing  of  my  return  to 
these  parts,  he  had  come  to  offer  his  services,  and  I gladly 
accepted  them,  for  a more  willing,  cheery  servant  I never 
had.  From  pony-man  he  was  now  promoted  to  cook. 
He  had  no  experience  of  cooking,  and  these  rough  hill- 
men  are  not  the  persons  one  would  ordinarily  choose  for 
cooks  ; but  knowing  the  hardships  my  men  would  have 
to  go  through,  I was  determined  not  to  have  a man  from 


THE  SIND  VALLEY,  KASHMIR 


To  face  page  190 


f 


iSSg]  WARRIORS  OF  KASHMIR  191 

the  plains  of  India,  who  might  become  ill  or  give  in 
just  when  his  services  were  most  needed.  Only  men 
accustomed  to  “roughing”  it  could  come  with  me  now, 
and  no  one  could  stand  hard  work  better  than  Shukar  Ali. 
So,  although  I could  not  look  forward  to  any  very 
recherche  dinners  while  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  cooking 
department,  I knew  that  I should  always  be  sure  of  a 
dinner  of  some  sort,  and  with  Shukar  Ali  as  one  of  the 
party  there  would  always  be  a volunteer  for  hard  work 
when  anything  specially  trying  had  to  be  done. 

At  Leh  I was  the  guest  of  Captain  Ramsay,  the  British 
Joint  Commissioner,  and  the  same  officer  whom  I men- 
tioned as  being  Political  Agent  at  Srinagar  when  I arrived 
there  from  Peking.  He  had  been  asked  to  have  ponies 
ready  for  me,  and  to  have  other  necessary  arrangements 
made  for  my  onward  journey,  and  he  had  done  everything 
so  thoroughly  that  I had  little  else  to  do  but  to  take  over 
charge.  A matter  which  gave  us,  however,  considerable 
anxiety  was  in  regard  to  an  additional  escort  of  twenty- 
five  Kashmir  sepoys,  who  were  to  be  taken  on  as  far  as 
Shahidula.  The  garrison  of  Leh  was  paraded,  but  it  only 
numbered  seventy-nine  all  told,  and  was  composed  of 
miserable,  decrepit  old  men,  thin  and  half-starved,  who 
looked  at  me  imploringly  as  I went  down  the  ranks — each 
one  seeming  to  beseech  me  not  to  take  him  with  me,  while 
a look  of  horror  came  over  each  one  that  I selected.  It  is 
impossible  to  conceive  a greater  difference  than  there  was 
between  the  look  and  the  spirit  of  the  Gurkhas  of  the 
regular  Indian  Army  I had  seen  at  Abbottabad  and  those 
woe-begone  troops  of  the  Kashmir  army.  The  one,  well 
looked  after,  well  paid,  well  equipped,  and  well  fed,  were 
ready  to  go  anywhere,  and  looked  upon  a few  months’ 
hard  work  as  a welcome  change  from  the  monotony  of 
barrack  life  ; the  other,  poorly  fed,  badly  equipped,  and 
under-paid,  dreaded  hard  work,  because  they  knew  they 
were  not  physically  fit  to  undergo  it,  and  because  they 
could  feel  no  assurance  that  sacrifices  on  their  part  would 
be  recognised  or  rewarded.  This  was  the  state  of  the 
Kashmir  army  in  1889.  How  different  it  is  now  that  it 


192  THE  RAIDS  FROM  HUNZA  [chap,  ix 

has  been  re-organised  under  the  supervision  of  British 
officers  is  shown  by  their  deeds  in  Hunza  and  Chitral. 

With  great  difficulty,  then,  Captain  Ramsay  and  I 
selected  seventeen  men  who,  with  a proper  equipment  of 
additional  warm  clothing  and  with  extra  rations,  we 
thought  might  just  be  able  to  pull  through  the  work 
required  of  them.  They  seemed  to  shrink  together  as 
they  were  told  they  would  have  to  march  two  hundred 
and  forty  miles  and  cross  four  high  passes  to  reach 
Shahidula  ; but  they  really  came  of  a soldier  race — the 
Dogras — and  as  soon  as  they  saw  that  they  were  to  be 
properly  cared  for,  they  plucked  up  courage,  and  they 
afterwards  did  what  was  required  of  them  well  and  with- 
out ever  giving  me  the  slightest  trouble. 

Besides  Kashmir  soldiers,  I made  at  Leh  an  addition  to 
my  party  of  two  Baltis,  with  a portable  raft  of  goatskins 
for  crossing  unfordable  rivers.  These  goatskin  rafts  are 
much  used  in  Baltistan.  From  sixteen  to  twenty  or  more 
goatskins  are  inflated  and  lashed  to  a framework  of  wood, 
which  can  then  be  punted  or  paddled  across  the  river. 
In  the  rafts  ordinarily  in  use  the  framework  is  a fixture, 
but  in  the  one  which  we  were  to  take,  the  poles  for  it  were 
of  course  taken  separately  and  the  skins  carried  flat. 

Captain  Ramsay  and  I,  while  these  preparations  were 
going  on,  discussed  a plan  of  operations.  Musa,  the 
Kirghiz  who  had  brought  the  petition  to  the  British 
authorities,  was  still  in  Leh.  From  him  we  learnt  the 
details  of  the  Kanjuti  raid  in  the  previous  year,  and 
gained  some  information  regarding  the  road  which  the 
raiders  had  followed  from  Hunza.  This  was  one  of  the 
roads  which  I wished  to  explore,  and  as  it  lay  through  a 
totally  unknown  country,  it  was  necessary  to  acquire  all 
possible  information  about  it  before  going  there.  My 
chief  anxiety  was  regarding  transport.  In  a country  which 
was  a labyrinth  of  mountains  without  any  roads,  coolies 
would  obviously  be  the  best  transport  to  employ.  Men 
could  go  where  a four-footed  animal  could  not ; and,  if 
I employed  coolies,  I could  follow  a route  which  would  be 
out  of  the  question  if  I employed  ponies  or  mules.  But 


QUESTIONS  OF  TRANSPORT 


193 


1889] 

there  was  one  fatal  objection  to  the  employment  of  coolies, 
and  that  was  that  if  the  men  had  to  carry  provisions  for 
themselves  for  any  length  of  time,  they  would  not  be  able 
to  carry  any  load  besides.  We  should  be  several  weeks 
away  from  any  inhabited  spot — in  fact,  we  were  afterwards 
travelling  for  fifty-seven  days  without  seeing  a single  in- 
habitant— and  as  each  man  requires  about  two  pounds  of 
food  each  day,  and  cannot  carry  a greater  load  than  sixty 
pounds  over  these  rough  mountains,  it  is  obvious  that  if 
he  had  to  travel  thirty  days  away  from  the  base  of  supplies, 
he  would  only  be  able  to  carry  sufficient  food  for  himself 
and  nothing  for  anybody  else,  and  that  if  he  had  to  march 
any  longer  than  thirty  days  he  would  starve.  So  coolies, 
though  the  best  means  of  transport  for  crossing  bad  places, 
could  not  be  employed. 

The  same  objection,  in  a modified  form,  applied  to  the 
use  of  ponies.  Ponies  eat  four  pounds  a day,  and  carry 
one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds.  They  could,  therefore,  go 
a little  further  than  coolies;  but  even  ponies,  if  the  expedi- 
tion were  a month  away  from  the  base,  would  only  be  able 
to  carry  forty  pounds  of  baggage  each  in  addition  to  grain 
supplies  for  themselves.  For  anything  over  a month  they 
would  be  useless.  I then  thought  of  employing  donkeys. 
These  animals  are  supposed  to  be  able  to  pick  up  a living 
anywhere,  and  a handful  or  two  of  grain  a day  for  each 
would  probably  be  sufficient,  but  a very  grave  objection 
to  using  them  was  their  small  size.  We  should  constantly 
be  crossing  rivers,  and  little  donkeys  would  be  swept  away 
at  once. 

I was  planning  out  a system  of  depots  and  com- 
bined employment  of  ponies,  donkeys,  and  men,  when 
Musa,  the  Kirghiz,  relieved  my  mind  by  suggesting 
camels.  He  said  a certain  number  could  be  procured  at 
Shahidula,  and  that  they  could  be  taken  along  a great 
part  of  the  route  to  Hunza.  This  at  once  solved  the 
difficulty,  for  camels  can  pick  up  a certain  amount  of 
grazing  along  the  mountain-sides,  so  that  they  only  need 
— or,  at  any  rate,  are  only  given — two  pounds  of  grain  a 
day,  while  they  carry  loads  of  from  two  hundred  and  fifty 
o 


194  the  raids  from  HUNZA  [chap,  ix 

to  three  hundred  pounds.  Their  size,  too,  would  be  of 
great  advantage  in  crossing  deep  rivers.  I had  already- 
employed  camels  on  my  way  from  Yarkand  to  the 
Mustagh  Pass  in  1887,  and  had  seen  then  how  well  these 
hill  camels  can  work  over  really  difficult  ground,  so  I at 
once  sent  off  a messenger  to  Shahidula  to  have  as  many 
as  possible  collected  for  me.  They  would  not  be  able  to 
go  the  whole  way,  but  they  could  work  along  the  valley 
bottoms  and  easier  passes  ; then  we  would  have  a few 
ponies  to  carry  us  over  the  more  difficult  passes,  and  two 
or  three  men  for  the  Avorst  of  all. 

The  transport  question  having  been  decided,  the  next 
matter  which  had  to  be  attended  to  was  supplies.  Though 
I have  spoken  of  Shahidula  as  a base,  it  was  not  a base 
in  the  ordinary  acceptance  of  the  term.  It  lies  over  twelve 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea  ; nothing  whatever  is  grown 
there  ; and  there  is  not  a single  permanently  inhabited 
house  in  the  place.  There  was  an  old  fort  there,  but 
Shahidula  was  really  only  the  headquarters  of  nomadic 
Kirghiz,  and  a convenient  halting-place  for  caravans  ; 
and  all  supplies  of  grain  had  to  be  brought  from  the 
villages  of  Turkestan,  six  days’  march  across  a pass 
seventeen  thousand  feet  high.  This  was  the  only  “base” 
for  the  exploration  of  a mountainous  region  where  for 
two  months  we  should  not  meet  with  inhabitants.  There 
were  not  at  this  time  sufficient  supplies  for  our  party  in 
Shahidula,  and  the  question  was  how  to  get  them  there. 
If  I sent  into  the  villages  of  Turkestan  for  them,  the 
Chinese  might  object  to  this,  for  these  villages  were 
under  Chinese  authority,  and  the  Chinese  have  been 
knoAvn  to  be  obstructive.  On  the  other  hand,  to  carry  up 
supplies  from  Leh  would  have  been  a serious  under- 
taking. The  furthest  village  in  the  Ladak  district  is  one 
hundred  and  eighty  miles  from  Shahidula,  and  separated 
from  it  by  three  passes  averaging  over  eighteen  thousand 
feet  in  height.  As,  therefore,  the  Chinese  had  been  very 
civil  to  me  on  my  former  journey,  I trusted  to  their  being 
so  again,  and  sent  on  a man  to  procure  supplies  from  the 
Turkestan  villages  to  bring  to  Shahidula. 


1889] 


MOUNTAIN  SICKNESS 


^95 


All  these  preparations  having  been  made,  I said  good- 
bye to  Captain  Ramsay,  and  on  August  8 again  set  out. 
Directly  behind  Leh  a high  pass,  the  Khardung,  seven- 
teen thousand  six  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  has  to  be 
crossed,  and  as  the  ascent  to  it  from  Leh  is  very  abrupt, 
I experienced  a bout  of  mountain  sickness,  which  de- 
pressed me  greatly  for  the  time.  When  the  ascent  to 
high  altitudes  is  gradual,  one  becomes  accustomed  to  the 
changed  condition  of  the  atmosphere ; but  when  the 
ascent  to  such  a height  as  seventeen  thousand  feet  is 
abrupt  (as  in  this  case)  most  men  seem  to  feel  the  change, 
and  a racking  headache  and  a feeling  of  sickness  and  de- 
pression soon  let  the  traveller  know  that  mountain  sick- 
ness has  come  over  him.  On  this  occasion  I became 
terribly  depressed.  I thought  that  if  I was  so  bad  as  this 
at  the  very  start,  how  should  I fare  when  there  were  three 
still  higher  passes  to  cross  before  even  Shahidula,  the 
starting-point  of  my  real  journey,  could  be  reached,  and 
when  there  were  ten  others  besides  to  cross  before  I 
should  find  myself  in  Kashmir  again  ? Fortunately,  how- 
ever, mountain  sickness  wears  off  as  one  becomes  accus- 
tomed to  high  altitudes,  and  I was  never  troubled  with  it 
again. 

The  journey  to  Shahidula  it  is  unnecessary  to  describe 
in  detail,  for  it  is  now  well  known.  We  ascended  the 
picturesque  Nubra  valley,  with  its  orchards  of  apricot 
trees  and  Buddhist  monuments,  and  then  crossed  the 
Saser  Pass,  seventeen  thousand  eight  hundred  feet — a 
pass  which,  on  account  of  the  glacier  at  its  summit,  is 
often  very  dangerous,  but  which  at  this  season  presented 
no  difficulty  whatever.  The  mountains  about  here  and  at 
the  head  of  the  Nubra  are  very  grand  and  bold,  and  rise 
to  peaks  of  twenty-three  thousand  and  twenty-four  thou- 
sand feet  in  height,  with  fine  glaciers  rolling  down  their 
sides ; but  beyond  the  Saser  Pass  we  entered  the  most 
utterly  desolate  country  that  exists  on  the  face  of  the 
globe.  The  Depsang  Plains  are  more  than  seventeen 
thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  and  are  of  gravel,  as  bare 
as  a gravel-walk  to  a suburban  villa.  Away  behind  us 


196 


THE  RAIDS  FROM  HUNZA  [chap,  ix 


the  snowy  peaks  of  Saser  and  Nubra  appeared  above  the 
horizon  like  the  sails  of  some  huge  ships  ; but  before  us 
was  nothing  but  gravel  plains  and  great  gravel  mounds, 
terribly  desolate  and  depressing.  Across  these  plains 
blew  blinding  squalls  of  snow,  and  at  night,  though  it 
was  now  the  middle  of  summer,  there  were  several  degrees 
of  frost.  Crossing  the  Depsang  Plains,  we  ascended 
a shallow  valley  covered  with  the  skeletons  of  ponies, 
which  every  traveller  who  passes  through  it  instinctively 
names  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  to  the  Kara- 
koram Pass,  eighteen  thousand  eight  hundred  and  fifty 
feet.  It  might  have  been  supposed  that  at  such  a height 
the  snow  would  have  been  lying  thick  ; but  there  was  not 
a speck  of  snow  either  on  it  or  on  the  mountain  summits 
by  it,  which  are  well  over  nineteen  thousand  feet  in 
height.  Karakoram  (Black  Gravel)  is,  as  I noted  above, 
the  very  name  for  this  pass  and  range ; but  it  is  strange 
that  these  mountains,  at  so  great  an  altitude  above  sea- 
level,  and  forming,  as  they  do,  the  watershed  between 
India  and  Turkestan,  should  have  no  signs  of  snow  upon 
them.  The  only  reason  I can  think  of  to  account  for  it  is 
that  behind  this  range  and  between  it  and  the  ocean,  from 
which  the  rain  comes,  are  other  far  more  lofty  mountains 
which  intercept  the  greater  part  of  the  moisture  ; and  as 
there  are  no  deep  trough-like  valleys  in  which  the  little 
snow  that  does  fall  would  collect  and  be  preserved  in  the 
form  of  glaciers,  but  only  wide  shallow  valleys  where  the 
snow  would  lie  where  it  fell  in  a thin  coating  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  mountain,  and  soon  melt  under  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  it  happens  that  these  mountains,  whose  summits  are 
as  high  as  Snowdon  placed  on  the  top  of  Mont  Blanc,  are 
in  the  summer  months  as  free  from  snow  as  our  little  hills 
in  England. 

Descending  the  northern  side  of  the  Karakoram  Pass, 
we  passed  the  spot  where  poor  Dalgleish  had  been 
murdered  by  an  Afghan  in  the  previous  year,  and  saw 
the  memorial  tablet  which  had  just  been  placed  there  by 
Mr.  Dauvergne,  Major  Cumberland,  and  Captain  Bower. 
No  more  dreary  spot  could  be  imagined ; and  here,  on  the 


WHERE  DALGLEISH  DIED 


197 


1889] 

dividing-line  between  India  and  Central  Asia,  in  the  very- 
core  of  these  lofty  mountain  ranges,  hundreds  of  miles 
away  from  his  nearest  fellow-countryman,  had  fallen  the 
one  solitary  Englishman  who  had  tried  to  make  his  home 
in  Central  Asia.  It  was  sad  to  think  of  such  a life  being 
so  sacrificed  ; and  that  after  he  had  succeeded,  as  he  had 
done,  in  gaining  the  affections  and  goodwill  of  the  people 
of  the  country  in  which  he  had  settled,  he  should  have 
been  treacherously  murdered  in  a fit  of  fanaticism  or 
temper  by  one  who  was  a stranger  like  himself. 

From  the  Karakoram  Pass  we  traversed  a region  only 
less  desolate  than  that  we  had  passed  over  on  the  southern 
side,  and  then,  after  crossing  the  Suget  Pass,  seventeen 
thousand  six  hundred  feet  high,  we  descended  rapidly  to 
Shahidula,  which  we  reached  on  August  21,  having  in  the 
last  six  days  travelled  one  hundred  and  seventy  miles  of 
country  in  which  no  supplies,  very  little  grass,  and  only 
roots  for  fuel  could  be  obtained,  and  in  those  six  days 
crossed,  besides  a minor  pass  of  fifteen  thousand  feet, 
three  others  averaging  seventeen  thousand  six  hundred 
feet  above  sea-level.  In  just  six  weeks  from  the  time  of 
leaving  the  cantonment  of  Abbottabad  my  party  was  six 
hundred  and  forty  miles  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains. 

At  Shahidula  we  were  met  by  a deputation  of  Kirghiz, 
headed  by  Turdi  Kol,  the  chief  man,  a quiet,  careworn 
old  gentleman,  who,  as  he  was  himself  present  at  the  time 
of  the  raid,  could  give  me  a full  and  accurate  account  of  it. 
What  had  happened  was  this.  In  the  autumn  of  the 
previous  year,  a party  of  eighty-seven  men  of  Hunza 
(Kanjutis),  armed  some  with  matchlocks,  some  with  swords, 
and  some  with  picks  only,  had  come  from  the  Shimshal 
Pass,  one  hundred  and  ninety  miles  distant,  and  had 
suddenly  appeared  near  Shahidula.  They  had  attacked  a 
caravan  and  carried  off  a quantity  of  goods,  and  had 
captured,  to  take  away  as  slaves,  some  stray  Kirghiz, 
whom  they  had  found  about  the  valley  tending  their  flocks 
and  herds.  They  took  some  of  these  men,  and  on  pain 
of  death  made  them  show  where  Turdi  Kol,  their  chief, 
was  living,  and  compelled  them  to  go  up  to  the  tent  and 


igS  THE  RAIDS  FROM  HUNZA  [chap,  ix 

call  to  him  to  come  out,  while  the  Kanjutis  lay  hidden, 
ready  to  capture  him  directly  he  appeared.  But  Turdi 
Kol  told  me  he  suspected  something  from  the  manner 
in  which  he  was  called,  and  from  the  fact  that  his  men  did 
not  usually  stand  outside  and  call  him,  but  came  in  and 
asked  him.  So  he  took  care  to  lay  hold  of  his  rifle,  an 
English  one,  and,  pushing  aside  the  door  of  the  tent, 
caught  sight  of  the  Kanjutis.  He  fired  at  them  and  they 
ran  away ; but  they  took  with  them  twenty-one  Kirghiz, 
men  and  women,  and  these  were  only  subsequently  re- 
leased on  the  payment  of  eighty  rupees  for  each. 

Turdi  Kol  and  all  the  Kirghiz  implored  me,  as  the 
representative  of  the  British  Government,  to  make  some 
arrangements  for  stopping  these  cruel  raids.  They  said 
the  Chinese  would  do  nothing  for  them,  and  their  only 
hope  now  was  in  the  British.  I was  able  to  tell  them  that 
the  Government  of  India  was  sending  Captain  (now 
Colonel)  Durand  to  Hunza  to  see  the  chief  of  that  country, 
and,  amongst  other  things,  to  try  to  come  to  some  under- 
standing with  him  in  regard  to  this  raiding,  and  that  for 
the  protection  of  the  trade  route  during  the  present  year  I 
was  going  to  leave  some  Kashmir  sepoys  at  Shahidula. 
But  I also  desired  to  explore  the  route  from  Shahidula  by 
which  the  raids  were  committed,  and  I would  ask,  there- 
fore, that  guides  should  be  furnished  me  to  enable  me 
to  effect  this.  Turdi  Kol  himself  at  once  volunteered 
to  accompany  me,  and  as  he  had  been  to  Hunza  before, 
and  knew  the  road,  his  assistance  was  likely  to  prove  most 
valuable. 

These  Kirghiz  were  not  an  attractive  set  of  men.  They 
were  timid,  irresolute,  and  shifty.  It  is  true  that  their 
mode  of  life  renders  them  rather  liable  to  attack,  for  they 
live  by  their  flocks  and  herds,  and  have  to  scatter  them- 
selves over  the  valleys  wherever  pasture  for  their  animals 
can  be  found.  They  are,  therefore,  necessarily  exposed  to 
attacks  from  a compact  body  of  raiders.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  these  raiders  had  to  come  nearly  two  hundred 
miles  through  a difficult  mountainous  country  ; and  the 
Kirghiz,  if  they  were  worth  anything  at  all,  ought  to  have 


THE  KIRGHIZ 


1889] 


1 99 


been  able,  in  the  defiles  and  passes  of  their  country,  to 
give  the  Kanjutis  some  sort  of  punishment,  or  to  effect 
some  little  retaliation  that  might  at  any  rate  have  checked 
the  audacity  of  the  raiders.  But  except  Turdi  Kol,  who 
really  had  some  pluck  and  nerve,  they  were  a flabby  lot, 
who,  like  parasites,  preferred  to  hang  on  to  some  greater 
power  and  get  protection  from  it  rather  than  make  any 
attempt  at  defence  themselves.  There  were  at  the  time  of 
my  visit  about  forty  families  in  Shahidula  and  its  neigh- 
bourhood, living,  like  all  Kirghiz,  in  the  round  felt- 
covered  tents,  called  akois.  They  were  well  dressed  in 
long  loose  robes  and  turbans,  or  round  fur  caps.  They 
appeared  to  be  in  more  flourishing  circumstances  than  the 
inhabitants  of  Ladak,  and  they  make  considerable  profits 
from  hiring  out  their  camels,  yaks,  and  ponies,  and  selling 
their  sheep  and  goats  to  the  traders  passing  through 
Shahidula  on  the  caravan  route  from  Yarkand  to  Leh. 
About  twenty  or  thirty  of  them  possessed  matchlocks  of  a 
primitive  pattern  ; the  remainder  were  unarmed.  All  of 
them  were  in  the  most  abject  terror  of  the  Kanjutis,  and 
assured  me  that  the  first  man  who  entered  Hunza  territory 
would  be  killed  without  a doubt.  They  proclaimed  this 
loudly  in  a large  gathering  which  I had  called  together, 
and  when  they  said  it  I turned  round  and  said  in  chaff  to 
the  naik  (corporal)  of  the  Gurkhas,  “ All  right ; you  shall 
go  first.”  The  little  man  was  quite  delighted,  and  beamed 
with  satisfaction  at  the  prospect.  Little  touches  like  this 
show  up  in  a flash  the  various  characteristics  of  different 
races.  Asiatics  interpret  these  signs  even  more  quickly 
than  Europeans,  and  the  six  little  Gurkhas  produced  by 
this  and  similar  actions  a marked  impression  upon  the 
people  wherever  they  went.  The  Kirghiz  soon  discovered 
the  difference  between  the  Gurkhas  and  themselves,  and 
the  feeling  of  terror  and  despondency  which  had  hung 
over  them  when  we  first  arrived  soon  gave  place  to  one  of 
confidence  and  security. 


CHAPTER  X 


AMONG  THE  GLACIERS 

“To  reside 

In  thrilling'  regions  of  thick-ribbed  ice.” 

Measure  for  Mcasxire. 


There  was  no  need  to  hurry  my  departure  from 
Shahidula,  for  it  was  necessary  to  wait  till  the  Yark- 
and River,  down  the  valley  of  which  we  should  have  to 
march  for  several  days,  should  have  fallen,  as  the  summer 
floods  from  the  melting  of  the  snows  decreased.  The 
region  which  was  now  to  be  explored  was  entirely  un- 
inhabited, and  without  roads,  tracks,  bridges,  or  any  of 
the  usual  means  of  communication.  I had  had  a sample 
of  it  on  my  journey  across  the  Mustagh  Pass,  and  I knew 
that  we  should  have  to  work  along  the  beds  of  rivers  and 
bottoms  of  deep,  precipitous-sided  valleys,  and  clamber 
over  ranges  by  any  sort  of  opening  which  could  be  digni- 
fied with  the  name  of  a pass.  The  first  sixty-five  miles  had 
been  explored  by  Hayward,  and  I had  myself,  in  1887, 
traversed  another  ninety  miles,  but  otherwise  the  region 
from  Shahidula  to  the  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir  and  Hunza 
was  perfectly  unknown  ; and  how  the  rivers  and  ranges 
ran,  and  where  this  Shimshal  Pass  was  situated  by  which 
the  Kanjuti  raiders  issued  from  Hunza,  were  all  matters 
for  conjecture. 

There  were  two  things  which  I desired  especially  to  do. 
I wished  to  discover  this  Shimshal  Pass,  and  see  how  the 
raiders  came,  and  I wished  on  my  way  there  to  satisfy  my 
curiosity  as  to  the  existence  of  a mysterious  pass  called  the 
Saltoro  Pass,  which  my  old  guide  Wall  had  pointed  out 
to  me  in  the  distance  on  our  way  to  the  Mustagh.  I felt 


200 


QUESTIONS  OF  SUPPLY 


201 


1889] 


sure  that  this  could  only  be  a second  Mustagh  Pass  ; but 
still,  such  as  it  was,  I wanted  to  see  it.  And  after  I had 
had  a look  at  both  these  passes,  it  was  my  intention  to 
make  my  way  up  on  the  edge  of  the  Pamir  plateau,  and 
afterwards  work  my  way  homeward  by  one  or  other  of  the 
passes  leading  from  these  down  through  Hunza  to  Gilgit. 
Captain  Durand,  in  the  meanwhile,  during  the  visit  he  had 
already  planned  to  make  to  Hunza,  was  to  arrange  with 
the  ruler  of  that  country  for  my  safe  conduct  through  it. 

The  supplies  which  had  been  sent  for  from  Turkestan 
arrived  by  the  end  of  August.  The  Chinese  had  raised 
no  objection  to  their  being  forwarded,  and  indeed  had 
sent  me  a polite  message  in  return  for  the  one  I had  sent 
them.  We  had  now  for  consumption  on  the  journey 
3200  lbs.  of  grain  for  the  ponies,  1440  lbs.  of 
flour  for  the  men,  160  lbs.  of  rice,  48  lbs.  of  ghi 
(clarified  butter),  besides  a miscellaneous  supply  of  tea, 
sugar,  etc.,  and  a flock  of  seven  sheep  and  six  goats. 
We  took  also  some  tools  for  road-making,  and  of  course 
a full  supply  of  shoes  and  nails  for  the  ponies. 

For  the  carriage  of  this  and  of  the  men’s  baggage  I 
had  eighteen  ponies  and  thirteen  camels  ; but  as  these 
supplies  were  only  sufficient  for  about  a month  and  a 
half,  I had  to  arrange  for  sending  back  the  camels  to 
fetch  a further  instalment,  which  was  to  be  brought  from 
the  Turkestan  villages  and  meet  me  at  a certain  junction 
of  rivers  (I  could  only  hope  that  the  two  particular  rivers 
did  join,  for  of  that  point  I had  no  certain  information) 
at  the  conclusion  of  my  exploration  of  the  Shimshal  and 
Saltoro  Passes.  This  exploration  would  of  course  take 
some  time,  and  meanwhile  the  camels  would  be  able  to 
make  their  journey  to  Shahidula  and  back.  I knew  we 
were  running  a risk  in  starting  without  our  supplies 
complete,  but  the  exploration  of  such  a region  could 
not  be  accomplished  without  running  risks  of  some  sort. 
Camels  in  sufficient  numbers  could  not  be  obtained,  and 
it  was  therefore  necessary  to  make  the  most  of  those  that 
were  available,  and  trust  to  the  second  instalment  of 
supplies  reaching  us  as  arranged  for. 


202 


AMONG  THE  GLACIERS 


[chap.  X 


The  ponies  and  their  equipment  having  been  thoroughly 
looked  to,  the  pack-saddles  repaired,  and  the  loads  pro- 
perly made  up,  we  left  Shahidula  on  September  3,  leaving 
behind  the  seventeen  Kashmir  sepoys,  who  were  to  stay 
for  a month  at  Shahidula  to  protect  the  trade  route,  and 
then  return  to  Leh.  The  party  now  consisted  of  six 
Gurkhas  (guard) ; one  orderly  surveyor  ; one  interpreter 
(an  Argoon  of  Leh) ; one  cook  (a  Ladaki) ; two  Bald 
raft-men  ; five  Kirghiz.  Total,  sixteen  men,  with  nine- 
teen ponies  (including  one  riding-pony  for  myself)  and 
thirteen  camels.  The  Kirghiz  all  rode  ponies  in  addition. 

We  struck  off  westward  from  Shahidula,  following  the 
route  which  Hayward  had  taken  on  his  exploration  of 
the  upper  course  of  the  Yarkand  River.  We  followed 
the  valley  of  a river  on  which  were  several  patches  of 
fine  grazing,  and  till  the  previous  year  had  been  well 
inhabited,  but  was  now  deserted  on  account  of  Kanjuti 
raids.  This  valley  is  known  by  the  name  of  Khal 
Chuskun.  Chuskun  in  Turki  means  “resting-place,” 
and  Khal  is  the  name  of  a holy  man  from  Bokhara  who 
is  said  to  have  rested  here  many  years  ago.  The  moun- 
tains bounding  the  north  of  this  valley  are  very  bold 
and  rugged,  with  fine  upstanding  peaks  and  glaciers  ; 
but  the  range  to  the  south,  which  Hayward  calls  the 
Aktagh  Range,  was  somewhat  tame  in  character,  with 
round  mild  summits  and  no  glaciers.  The  Sokh-bulak 
is  an  easy  pass,  and  from  its  summit  to  the  east  could  be 
seen  the  snowy  range  of  the  eastern  Kuenlun  Mountains, 
while  to  the  west  appeared  a rocky  mass  of  mountains 
culminating  in  three  fine  snowy  peaks  which  Hayward 
mistook  as  belonging  to  the  main  Mustagh  Range,  but 
which,  in  fact,  in  no  way  approach  to  the  height  and 
magnificence  of  these  mountains,  and  really  belong  to 
the  Aghil  Range,  which  is  separated  from  the  Mustagh 
Mountains  by  the  valley  of  the  Oprang  River. 

The  wind  was  blowing  with  such  violence  on  the 
summit  of  the  pass  that  I found  it  impossible,  after 
trying  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  to  obtain  the  height 
by  boiling-point  of  the  thermometer.  It  has,  however. 


A WORLD  OF  MOUNTAINS 


203 


1889] 

been  fixed  by  Hayward  at  seventeen  thousand  and 
ninety-two  feet.  Descending  from  the  pass  through  a 
narrow  rocky  gorge,  towards  evening  we  reached  the 
valley  of  the  Yarkand  River,  and  halted  at  an  open 
strip  of  jungle  known  as  Kirghiz  Jangal.  The  valley 
is  here  a mile  or  more  broad ; the  bottom  is  mostly 
covered  with  pebbles,  with  the  stream  running  in  many 
channels  over  it.  The  mountain-sides  are  steep,  rocky 
precipices,  and  no  grass  or  wood  is  seen,  except  at  a few 
spots  along  the  bed  of  the  river. 

On  September  5 we  made  a short  march  of  eleven 
miles  to  Kulanuldi,  a camping-ground  called  by  this 
name  on  account  of  a kulan,  or  wild  ass,  having  once 
been  found  dead  there.  The  weather  at  this  time  was 
delightful,  very  clear  and  bright,  neither  too  hot  nor  too 
cold — ^just  perfection  for  travelling.  The  route,  too,  was 
easy  and  level,  leading  down  the  broad  pebbly  bed  of 
the  Yarkand  River.  The  snowy  peaks  of  the  Kuenlun 
Mountains  rose  up  to  a height  of  twenty-one  thousand 
feet  to  the  north,  but  the  real  summit  of  the  Aghil  Range 
to  the  south  could  only  be  seen  occasionally  in  peeps  up 
narrow  ravines.  Far  down  the  valley  of  the  Yarkand 
River  to  the  westward  could  be  seen  a very  prominent 
knot  of  peaks,  the  height  of  which  was  approximately 
fixed  by  Hayward  at  twenty-three  thousand  feet. 

On  the  following  day  we  made  an  early  start  in  order 
to  make  up  for  our  short  march  the  day  before,  and 
advanced  twenty-six  miles,  passing  on  the  way  the 
camping-grounds  of  Chiraghsaldi,  where  the  route  from 
Yarkand,  which  I followed  in  1887,  joins  in,  and  which 
is  the  furthest  point  reached  by  Hayward.  From  this 
point  the  valley  narrowed  considerably,  and  as  the 
stream  runs  at  places  between  enormously  high  cliffs, 
it  is  necessary  to  be  constantly  crossing  and  recrossing 
the  river,  which  gets  deeper  and  deeper  as  streams  from 
either  side  add  to  its  volume,  till  at  last  it  becomes 
too  deep  to  be  forded  by  laden  ponies,  and  we  were 
brought  to  a standstill  at  the  same  gorge  where  I was 
delayed  two  years  ago.  The  river  at  this  point  was  up 


204  AMONG  THE  GLACIERS  [chap,  x 

to  the  ponies’  backs,  and  flowing  with  a strong  rapid 
current  over  a rocky  bottom,  so  that  it  was  out  of  the 
question  to  take  our  baggage  over  on  ponies  ; and  we 
had  to  halt  for  the  night  (September  7)  and  wait  till  the 
morning,  when  the  river  is  less  deep  than  during  the 
afternoon,  as  its  volume  is  then  increased  owing  to 
the  sun  melting  the  snows. 

On  this  march  we  passed  some  ruins  on  a grassy  plain 
called  Karash-tarim  {i.e.  the  cultivated  lands  of  Karash, 
a man  who  is  said  to  have  lived  here  some  eighty  years 
ago).  There  were  remains  of  half  a dozen  huts  and  some 
smelting  furnaces,  and  there  were  also  signs  of  furrows 
where  land  had  been  cultivated.  This  strip  of  grass  and 
jungle  was  over  half  a mile  long  and  six  hundred  yards 
broad,  and  doubtless  in  former  times  was  a flourishing 
spot.  There  were  evident  signs,  too,  of  the  existence  of 
minerals,  copper  and  iron,  and  possibly  even  gold  in 
small  quantities  may  be  found,  for  quartz  and  pieces  of 
iron  ore  were  abundant ; while  there  are  many  traditions 
of  the  presence  of  minerals  in  these  mountains,  and  the 
name  of  the  country,  Raskam,  a corruption  of  Rastkan 
(a  real  mine),  clearly  shows  that  minerals  may  be  expected. 

Lower  down  we  passed  a considerable  stream  called  the 
Bazar  Darra,  up  which  a route  leads  to  Pakhpulu.  The 
size  of  the  stream,  twenty-five  yards  broad  by  one  and  a 
half  feet  deep,  shows  that  the  main  range  of  the  Kuenlun 
Mountains  must  recede  considerably  from  here.  I was 
informed  by  Turdi  Kol  that,  after  ascending  the  Bazar 
Darra  River,  and  crossing  a pass  (the  Kokalang),  you 
do  not  enter  the  basin  of  the  Tisnaf  River,  as  you  would 
in  the  case  of  the  Yangi  and  Chiraghsaldi  passes  further 
east,  but  you  descend  into  the  valley  of  a river  called  the 
Kulanargu,  which  joins  the  Yarkand  River  in  its  lower 
course  somewhere  near  Pil ; and  you  have  to  cross 
another  pass,  the  Takhta-kuran,  before  you  enter  the 
valley  of  the  Tisnaf  River ; so  that  it  is  evident  that  a 
little  to  the  west  of  the  Chiraghsaldi  Pass  the  Kuenlun 
Range  must  split  up,  the  two  branches  being  separated 
by  the  Kulanargu  River.  The  lower  part  of  this  river  is 


A SHINGLE  SLOPE 


205 


1889J 

called  Chukshu,  and  is  inhabited  by  Turkis,  who  are  under 
Chinese  jurisdiction,  though  they,  like  the  Kirghiz,  were 
refused  protection  from  Kanjuti  raids,  and  were  told  by 
the  Chinese  authorities  that  they  lived  outside  the  frontier 
passes,  and  must  therefore  expect  no  assistance. 

The  great  height  of  these  mountains  was  deeply  im- 
pressed upon  me  on  this  day’s  march.  Tired  of  marching 
monotonously  along  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  cooped  in 
by  the  mountains  all  round,  I determined  to  climb  a pro- 
jecting hill,  from  which  it  seemed  a view  might  be 
obtained  of  the  higher  portions  of  the  ranges  which  were 
shutting  us  in.  For  some  hours  I toiled  up  a shingle 
slope,  at  each  step  sliding  back,  in  the  moving  stone 
shoot,  almost  as  much  as  I ascended,  and  when  at  last 
I reached  the  summit  of  the  hill,  I found  it  but  the 
extremity  of  a spur  which  stretched  back  higher  and 
higher  to  the  range  behind.  My  caravan  below  looked 
like  specks  in  the  valley  bottom,  but  the  snowy  peaks 
above  were  still  as  distant  as  ever.  I saw  little  more  of 
the  great  main  ranges  than  could  be  seen  from  the  valley 
bottom,  and,  beginning  to  realise  something  of  what 
these  mountain  heights  truly  are,  I descended  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  hill  and  rejoined  my  party  just  as  they 
were  brought  to  a standstill  in  the  gorge  I have  mentioned 
above.  The  river  was  dashing  along  at  a furious  rate 
over  huge  rocks  and  boulders,  and  was  quite  impassable 
for  the  ponies,  so  we  were  compelled  to  halt  for  the  night; 
and  the  next  morning,  selecting  a place  where  the  river- 
bottom  was  least  rugged,  we  crossed  the  river  on  camels, 
halting  a few  miles  on  the  other  side  of  the  gorge  at  a 
pleasant  little  camping-ground  called  Kami,  at  the  junc- 
tion of  the  Surakwat  stream.  Here  there  was  plenty  of 
thick  green  grass  and  shrubs  quite  twenty  feet  high  ; so 
we  remained  the  following  day  also,  that  the  ponies 
might  have  a good  feed  of  grass  such  as  they  were  not 
likely  to  see  for  a long  time  to  come. 

Turdi  Kol  took  me  a few  miles  lower  down  the  river 
and  showed  me  two  other  equally  good  camping-grounds, 
and  he  says  that  there  is  considerably  more  pasture  in 


2o6  among  the  glaciers  [chap,  x 

the  lower  part  of  this  valley  than  in  that  of  the  Karakash 
River,  where  Shahidula  is  situated,  and  that  in  the  old 
days  the  valley  was  populated  and  cultivated,  and 
merchants  went  to  and  fro  by  the  Mustagh  Pass  to 
Baltistan.  Kanjuti  raids,  however,  put  a stop  to  this, 
and  a story  is  told  of  a great  raid  which  took  place  at  this 
gorge.  The  Kanjutis  lay  hid  on  the  cliffs  overhanging 
the  river,  and  as  a man  called  Khoja  Mohammed  was 
passing  through  with  his  family  and  a large  party,  they 
fired  down  on  them,  and  afterwards  attacked  them  with 
the  sword,  killing  all  the  men,  and  taking  the  women 
and  children  captive.  Since  that  time  this  gorge  has 
always  been  known  by  the  name  of  Khoja  Mohammed. 

We  now  had  to  leave  the  valley  of  the  Yarkand  River 
and  cross  the  Aghil  Range  into  the  valley  of  the  Oprang 
River.  I took  the  camels  on,  one  day’s  march  further, 
to  the  foot  of  the  Aghil  Pass,  and  then  sent  them  back 
to  Shahidula  to  bring  on  the  second  instalment  of  sup- 
plies, which  I had  arranged  that  Turdi  Kol  should  bring 
to  meet  me  at  Chong  Jangal,  near  the  junction  of  the 
Oprang  with  the  Yarkand  River,  after  the  exploration  of 
the  Saltoro  and  Shimshal  Passes.  The  ascent  of  the 
Surakwat  stream  towards  the  Aghil  Pass  is  in  parts  very 
difficult,  as  the  valley  narrows  to  a gorge,  and  at  two 
places  we  had  to  spend  some  hours  in  building  up  a stair- 
case to  enable  the  ponies  to  get  round  steep,  rocky  cliffs. 
The  numerous  boulders,  too,  with  which  the  valley  bottom 
is  strewn,  made  it  very  trying  work  for  the  ponies  ; but 
we  eventually  emerged  on  to  a small  plain,  at  the  further 
end  of  which  the  main  summits  of  the  Aghil  Range  rise 
up  like  a wall  in  front  of  one  rugged  and  uncompromising. 
Here  we  passed  the  same  rock  behind  which,  in  1887, 
I had  spent  the  night  lying  in  the  open,  as  I had  always 
been  obliged  to  do  during  my  passage  of  these  moun- 
tains, for  fear  of  attack  from  Kanjutis,  should  I make  my 
presence  known  by  setting  up  a tent.  Retracing  my 
former  footsteps  on  September  ii,  we  crossed  the  remark- 
able depression  in  the  range  which  is  known  as  the  Aghil 
Pass. 


K.2. 


207 


i88g] 

So  far  we  had  been  travelling  over  known  ground, 
though  I was  the  only  European  who  had  been  over  this 
pass  before  ; but  now  there  was  some  new  exploration  to 
be  done.  I have  before  described  the  wonderful  view 
that  is  to  be  obtained  from  the  summit  of  the  Aghil  Pass 
— snowy  peaks,  the  grim  wall  of  mountains,  and  the 
glaciers,  like  some  huge  dragons,  creeping  down  the 
valley  bottoms.  Away  to  the  eastward,  up  a glacier 
which  stretched  across  the  valley  of  the  Oprang  River 
at  our  feet,  Wali  the  guide  had  told  me  there  was  a way 
to  Baltistan  by  a pass  called  the  Saltoro.  No  one, 
apparently,  had  crossed  this  pass  for  many  years,  and  it 
was  more  than  likely  that  it  would  prove  just  as  difficult 
as  the  Mustagh  Pass  had  been  ; but  before  going  on  to 
the  Shimshal  I thought  I might  well  employ  a week  or 
ten  days  in  seeing  what  it  was  really  like.  We  descended 
to  the  valley  of  the  Oprang  River,  and  camped  at  a spot 
where  some  little  grass  could  be  obtained,  and  here  I left 
my  Gurkha  escort  with  the  heavy  baggage  and  went  on 
with  Shahzad  Mir,  my  orderly,  Shukar  Ali,  and  a Balti. 
We  took  five  ponies  and  ten  days’  supplies,  including  fuel, 
and  I took  a pony  to  ride  myself  whenever  it  was  possible. 

On  September  12  we  made  our  start.  The  first  march 
was  easy  enough,  leading  up  the  broad,  pebbly  bed  of 
the  Oprang  River.  Up  one  of  the  gorges  to  the  south 
we  caught  a magnificent  view  of  the  great  peak  K.2, 
twenty-eight  thousand  two  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
feet  high  ; and  we  halted  for  the  night  at  a spot  from 
which  both  K.2  and  the  Gusherbrum  peaks,  four 
of  which  are  over  twenty-six  thousand  feet  high,  were 
visible.  On  the  following  day  our  difficulties  really  began. 
The  first  was  the  great  glacier  which  we  had  seen  from 
the  Aghil  Pass ; it  protruded  right  across  the  valley  of 
the  Oprang  River,  nearly  touching  the  cliffs  on  the  right 
bank  ; but  fortunately  the  river  had  kept  a way  for  itself, 
by  continually  washing  away  the  ice  at  the  end  of  the 
glacier,  and  so  by  taking  our  ponies  through  the  water, 
which  was  filled  with  blocks  of  ice,  we  were  able  to  get 
round  the  end  of  the  glacier,  a great  wall  of  ice  of  one 


2o8  among  the  glaciers  [chap,  x 

hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred  feet  high.  This  glacier 
runs  down  from  the  Gusherbrum  Mountains,  and  is  about 
one  and  a half  miles  broad  at  the  end  ; the  central  portion 
is  a mass  of  pure  ice-peaks,  and  the  view  looking  up  it  is 
very  fine,  with  the  sea  of  ice  beneath,  and  the  Gusher- 
brum in  the  distance  towering  up  to  a height  of  over 
twenty-six  thousand  feet. 

The  passage  round  the  end  of  the  glacier  was  not  un- 
attended with  danger,  for  the  stream  was  swift  and  strong; 
and  on  my  own  pony  I had  to  reconnoitre  very  carefully 
for  points  where  it  was  shallow  enough  to  cross,  while 
there  was  also  some  fear  of  fragments  from  the  great  ice- 
wall  falling  down  on  the  top  of  us  when  we  were  passing 
along  close  under  the  cliffs  of  ice  which  formed  the  end 
of  the  glacier.  After  getting  round  this  obstacle,  we 
entered  a gravel  plain  some  three-quarters  of  a mile 
broad,  and  were  then  encountered  by  another  glacier 
running  across  the  valley  of  the  Oprang  River.  This 
proved  to  be  the  glacier  we  should  have  to  ascend  in 
order  to  reach  the  Saltoro  Pass,  while  the  Oprang  River 
could  be  seen  to  flow  down  from  another  glacier  to  the 
south  ; and  still  another  appeared  in  view,  coming  in  a 
south-east  direction,  and  rising  apparently  not  very  far 
from  the  Karakoram  Pass.  We  were  therefore  now  in 
an  ice-bound  region,  with  glaciers  in  front  of  us,  glaciers 
behind  us,  and  glaciers  all  round  us.  Heavy  snow-clouds, 
too,  were  unfortunately  collecting  to  increase  our  diffi- 
culties, and  I felt  that  we  should  have  a hard  task  to 
reach  the  pass. 

On  first  looking  at  one  of  these  glaciers,  it  would 
appear  impossible  to  take  the  ponies  up  them  ; but  the 
sides  are  always  covered  with  moraine,  and  my  experi- 
ence in  the  exploration  of  the  Mustagh  Pass  in  1887 
showed  that,  by  carefully  reconnoitring  ahead,  it  was 
generally  possible  to  take  the  ponies,  for  a considerable 
distance  at  least,  up  such  glaciers.  We,  therefore,  now 
ascended  the  left  side  of  the  glacier,  and  halted  for  the 
night  at  a point  from  which  a full  view  of  the  pass  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  glacier  was  obtained.  The  pass. 


SNOW-CLOUDS 


209 


1889] 

indeed,  seemed  quite  close,  but  distances  in  the  clear 
atmosphere  of  these  high  mountains  are  very  deceptive  ; 
and  though  my  orderly,  inexperienced  in  mountaineering, 
on  first  seeing  the  pass,  was  delighted  to  think  that  we 
should  reach  its  summit  on  the  following  day,  we  did  not 
actually  approach  it  for  three  days  yet  to  come,  and  our 
adventures  on  the  way  may  perhaps  be  best  described  by 
extracts  from  my  journal  written  day  by  day  on  the  spot. 

September  14. — A very  hard,  trying,  and  unsatisfactory 
day.  I started  off  this  morning  full  of  zeal,  ready  to  go 
anywhere  and  do  anything,  but  finished  up  utterly  tired 
out  and  careless  of  what  might  happen.  These  glaciers 
are  terribly  hard  going,  and  after  working  the  whole  day 
we  are  only  as  far  as  where  I originally  hoped  to  be  last 
evening,  and  the  pass  is  as  far  off  as  ever.  I started  off 
early  this  morning  before  the  camp  was  struck,  and 
climbed  the  mountain  range  on  the  left  bank  of  the  valley 
to  a gap,  from  which  I hoped  to  get  a view  of  what  might 
be  on  the  other  side.  But  after  a stiff  climb  of  nearly 
two  thousand  feet,  I Avas  only  rewarded  by  seeing  the 
great  glacier  which  flows  down  from  the  Gusherbrum  and 
another  ridge  on  the  opposite  side.  SnoAV  was  falling, 
and  the  view  which  I had  expected  to  get  was  hidden  by 
the  clouds. 

These  snow-clouds  are  remarkable  for  their  soft,  fleece- 
like intangibility.  They  are  formed  of  very  fine  powder- 
like  snow,  and  they  softly  obliterate  a mountain  peak 
while  the  change  is  scarcely  perceptible.  I have  seen 
a peak  standing  out  sharp  and  distinct  before  me,  and 
then  watched  it  slowly  fade  from  sight,  its  outline  become 
first  hazy,  then  more  and  more  difficult  to  distinguish, 
till  all  was  of  a dull  grey  hue  like  the  sky  around.  One 
of  these  snow-clouds  had  settled  down  upon  it,  the 
powdery  snow  first  falling  lightly,  then  heavier  and 
heavier,  till  the  mountain  was  completely  blotted  out. 

There  was,  therefore,  nothing  to  be  seen  from  the  spur 
which  I had  ascended,  and  I rejoined  my  party.  We 
then  started  off  to  tackle  the  glacier,  and  at  first  the  way 
was  good  enough — that  is,  we  could  get  along  at  the  rate 


p 


210 


AMONG  THE  GLACIERS 


[chap.  X 


of  one  and  a half  miles  an  hour — and,  as  things  seemed 
fairly  smooth  for  some  way  ahead,  I went  off  to  make 
a small  exploration  of  a glacier  coming  down  from  the 
westward.  But  after  tumbling  about  on  it  for  some  time, 
and  getting  two  nasty  falls,  I was  brought  up  by  a steep 
ice-fall.  I tried  to  climb  the  mountain-side,  and  had  got 
up  it  for  about  two  hundred  feet,  clinging  to  projecting 
rocks,  but  when  these  failed  me,  I had  to  give  up  the 
attempt,  as  it  was  too  dangerous  to  cross  the  fall  by  my- 
self without  the  aid  of  ropes.  So  I was  again  unsuccess- 
ful, and,  making  my  way  back  to  my  party,  found  them 
halted  in  front  of  a great  mass  of  accumulated  ice  fallen 
from  the  seracs,  or  ice-pinnacles,  above.  It  was  a 
wonderful  sight  to  look  at  the  great  walls  and  blocks 
of  pure  ice,  white  on  the  surface,  and  a beautiful  trans- 
parent green  where  it  was  broken.  But  it  was  a hard 
thing  to  encounter  on  the  way.  We  formed  a plan  of 
carrying  the  loads  over  the  debris  of  ice,  and  swimming 
the  ponies  across  a strip  of  water ; but  on  exploring 
ahead  we  found  it  even  worse,  and  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  go  back  some  distance  and  try  another  way. 
This  we  did,  but  were  yet  again  brought  to  a standstill 
by  some  crevasses,  and  here  we  halted  for  the  day. 

September  15. — We  went  back  again,  and  at  last  found 
a way  which  led  us  straight  up  the  centre  of  the  glacier. 
We  got  along  famously,  and  are  now  encamped  at  the 
head  of  the  glacier,  close  under  the  pass,  which  we  will 
attempt  to-morrow.  It  looks  rather  like  a repetition  of 
the  Mustagh,  rising  like  a wall  for  about  two  thousand 
feet,  and  nothing  but  snow  and  ice.  It  may,  however, 
turn  out  easier  upon  closer  acquaintance. 

September  16. — To-day  we  made  an  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  cross  the  Saltoro  Pass.  I had  given  orders  to 
be  called  at  2 a.m.,  and  after  having  some  chota  hazri, 
and  making  all  necessary  preparations,  we  started  at 
3.30  a.m.  It  was  snowing  hard  and  freezing  hard,  while 
dense  clouds  overhead  hid  the  moon,  so  that  we  had 
barely  sufficient  light  to  find  our  way.  Yesterday  after- 
noon Shukar  Ali  and  I had  reconnoitred  ahead,  and 


AN  AVALANCHE 


2II 


1889] 


determined  the  general  line  of  advance  and  the  best  point 
at  which  to  attack  the  pass,  and  we  now  proceeded 
steadily  up  the  neve  at  the  head  of  the  glacier.  At  first 
crevasses  were  frequent,  some  visible— great  staring  rents 
in  the  ice  fifty  or  sixty  feet  deep— others  invisible,  being 
covered  with  snow  ; these  last  were  the  dangerous  ones, 
for  the  snow  would  suddenly  give  way  under  you,  and 
your  legs  would  go  down  a deep,  dark  hole.  But,  though 
this  frequently  happened,  we  had  no  accidents,  and  the 
higher  we  climbed  the  less  frequent  became  the  crevasses, 
though  the  snow  became  softer,  and  it  was  heavy  work 
trudging  along  and  sinking  knee-deep  at  every  step. 

Day  now  began  to  dawn,  but  the  heavy  snowstorm  did 
not  cease,  and  we  could  only  see  the  lower  parts  of  the 
mountains,  while  their  summits  were  hidden  in  the  clouds. 
We  were  making  towards  a ravine,  up  which  we  conjec- 
tured could  be  the  only  possible  way  to  the  top  of  the 
pass,  and  were  rounding  an  icy  slope  forming  one  side 
of  the  ravine,  when  suddenly  we  heard  a report  like 
thunder,  and  then  a rushing  sound.  We  knew  at  once 
that  it  was  an  avalanche  ; it  was  coming  from  straight 
above  us,  and  I felt  in  that  moment  greater  fear  than  I 
ever  yet  had  done,  for  we  could  see  nothing,  but  only 
heard  this  tremendous  rushing  sound  coming  straight 
down  upon  us.  One  of  the  men  called  out  to  run,  but 
we  could  not,  for  we  were  on  an  ice-slope,  up  which  we 
were  hewing  our  way  with  an  axe.  The  sound  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  then  came  a cloud  of  snow-dust,  and 
the  avalanche  rushed  past  us  in  the  ravine  by  our  side. 
Had  it  happened  a quarter  of  an  hour  later,  or  had  we 
started  a quarter  of  an  hour  earlier,  we  should  have  been 
in  the  ravine  and  buried  by  the  avalanche. 

We  now  continued  the  ascent  of  the  ice-slope,  hoping 
we  might  find  a road  by  that  way  ; but  we  were  brought 
up  by  a great  rent  in  the  ice,  a yawning  chasm  with 
perpendicular  walls  of  solid  ice.  This  effectually  put  an 
end  to  our  attempt  to  cross  the  pass,  for  I dared  not 
descend  into  the  ravine,  through  fear  of  avalanches.  We 
therefore  were  obliged  to  return  and  give  up  all  hopes  of 


212 


AMONG  THE  GLACIERS 


[chap.  X 


reaching  the  top  of  the  Saltoro  Pass.  On  our  way  back 
we  saw  another  avalanche  rush  down  the  mountain-side, 
and  over  the  very  path  we  had  made  in  ascending,  cover- 
ing up  our  actual  footsteps  left  in  the  snow.  Seeing, 
therefore,  how  dangerous  it  was  to  remain  where  we  were, 
we  hastened  on,  and  very  thankful  I was  when  we  again 
reached  the  open  glacier,  and  were  out  of  the  reach  of 
avalanches.  Snow  continued  to  fall  heavily,  and  we 
heard  the  roar  of  avalanches  on  the  mountains  all  around 
us.  Shukar  Ali  said  that  if  the  sky  were  to  clear,  and  we 
could  wait  a week  for  the  snow  to  settle,  we  might  find 
a way  over  the  pass.  But  in  any  case  it  would  have  been 
a piece  of  difficult  mountaineering,  and  I could  not  afford 
to  wait  a week  in  a place  where  neither  fuel  nor  grass 
could  be  obtained,  and  where  everything  was  buried  in 
snow  and  ice.  So  I determined  upon  returning  to  my  camp 
on  the  Oprang  River,  and  gave  up  any  further  attempts 
at  crossing  the  pass.  We  accordingly  hastened  back  to 
our  camp  at  the  head  of  the  glacier,  packed  up,  and 
marched  round  the  glacier,  the  snowstorm  still  continuing. 

September  /y. — A heavy  snowstorm  during  the  night, 
and  our  camp  in  the  middle  of  the  glacier  looked  very 
cheerless  this  morning.  Ponies,  tents,  baggage,  and 
everything,  were  covered  with  snow,  and  snow  was  still 
falling  heavily  when  we  struck  camp  and  continued  our 
march  down  the  glacier.  We  were  able  to  make  a double 
march,  as  we  had  the  track  marked  out,  and  the  bad  places 
improved  by  our  march  up  ; and  now  we  are  once  again 
on  terra  firma,  and  camped  where  we  can  get  grass  for  the 
ponies,  and  a certain  amount  of  fuel,  and  nice  smooth  sand 
to  lie  upon  at  night,  instead  of  the  thin  layer  of  sharp 
stones  which  separated  us  from  two  or  three  hundred  feet 
of  solid  glacier  ice. 

The  length  of  this  glacier  is  eighteen  miles,  and  its 
average  breadth  is  half  a mile  ; it  is  fed  by  three  smaller 
glaciers  on  the  west  and  one  on  the  east.  At  its  upper 
part,  immediately  under  the  pass,  it  is  a smooth  undulat- 
ing snowfield  about  a mile  and  a half  in  width.  Lower 
down  the  neve  is  split  up  into  crevasses  which  increase  in 


CHARACTER  OF  THE  GLACIER 


213 


1889] 

size  the  further  down  we  get.  Then  the  surface  gradually 
breaks  into  a mass  of  ice-domes,  which  lower  down  be- 
come sharp  needles  of  pure  white  ice.  On  each  side 
lateral  gravel  moraines  appear,  and  other  glaciers  join, 
each  with  its  centre  of  white  ice-pinnacles  and  its  lateral 
moraines,  and  preserving  each  its  own  distinct  course 
down  the  valley  until  some  three  miles  from  its  termina- 
tion, when  the  icy  peaks  are  all  melted  down  and  the 
glacier  presents  the  appearance  of  a billowy  mass  of 
moraine,  and  would  look  like  a vast  collection  of  gravel 
heaps,  were  it  not  that  you  see,  here  and  there,  a cave  or 
a cliff  of  ice,  showing  that  the  gravel  forms  really  only  a 
very  thin  coating  on  the  surface,  and  that  beneath  is  all 
pure  solid  ice.  This  ice  is  of  an  opaque  white,  and  not  so 
green  and  transparent  as  other  glaciers  I have  seen,  and 
the  snow  at  the  head  of  the  glacier  was  different  from  any 
I had  seen  before,  for  beneath  the  surface,  or  when  it  was 
formed  into  lumps,  it  was  of  the  most  lovely  transparent 
blue.  Yesterday  I forgot  to  mention,  too,  that  every  flake 
of  snow  that  fell  in  the  storm  was  a perfect  hexagonal  star, 
most  beautiful  and  delicate  in  form.  The  mountains  on 
either  side  of  the  valley,  especially  on  the  eastern  side, 
are  extremely  rugged  and  precipitous,  affording  little  or  no 
resting-place  for  the  snow,  which  drains  off  immediately 
into  the  glacier  below.  The  western  range,  the  main 
Mustagh  Range,  was  enveloped  in  clouds  nearly  the 
whole  time,  and  I only  occasionally  caught  a glimpse  of 
some  peaks  of  stupendous  height,  one  of  them,  the 
Gusherbrum,  over  twenty-six  thousand  feet,  and  others 
twenty-four  thousand  feet.  The  snowfall  on  these  moun- 
tains must  be  very  considerable,  and  it  seems  that  this 
knot  of  lofty  mountains  attracts  the  great  mass  of  the  snow- 
clouds,  and  gets  the  share  which  ought  to  fall  on  the 
Karakoram,  while  these  latter,  being  of  less  height,  attract 
the  clouds  to  a less  degree,  and  are  in  consequence  almost 
bare  of  snow. 

Another  heavy  snowstorm  fell  during  the  night,  and  on 
the  following  morning,  September  18,  I rode  into  the  camp 
where  the  Gurkha  escort  and  heavy  baggage  had  been  left. 


214 


AMONG  THE  GLACIERS 


[chap.  X 

and  thence  sent  back  some  men  and  fresh  ponies  to  assist 
the  other  wretched  ponies,  who  were  in  a bad  way,  for 
they  had  had  no  grass  for  four  days,  and  at  these  high 
altitudes  it  is  not  wise  to  give  them  more  than  four  pounds 
of  grain  a day,  for  if  more  than  that  is  given,  they  seem 
to  lose  their  breath  easily  ; and  my  own  pony,  a few 
marches  further  on,  died  from  this  very  cause. 

During  the  exploration  of  the  Saltoro  Pass  I had  lived 
in  a small  tent  d’abri,  not  large  enough  to  stand  upright 
in ; and  the  return  to  my  larger  tent  with  a table  and  chair 
was  like  a return  to  real  civilisation.  My  mind  was  now  set 
at  rest  regarding  the  Saltoro  Pass.  I should  like  to  have 
reached  its  summit,  if  the  fates  had  been  propitious,  but 
I had  seen  enough  to  satisfy  most  people  that  there  was 
no  high-road  to  India  by  that  way,  and  I now  turned  to  the 
exploration  of  the  Shimshal  Pass  into  Hunza. 

On  September  21  the  whole  party  started  down  the 
valley  of  the  Oprang  River,  and  then  up  the  Sarpo 
Laggo  stream  to  Suget  Jangal,  one  of  my  camping- 
grounds  on  the  way  to  the  Mustagh  Pass.  Near  here 
I again  had  a sight  of  that  glorious  peak  K.2.  The  sun 
was  just  setting,  and  long  after  the  other  mountains  round 
had  become  gold  and  grey,  the  warm  red  hues  of  sunset 
were  still  clinging  to  this  loftiest  tower  of  the  Mustagh 
Mountains.  From  the  spur  which  I had  ascended  I could 
see  also  the  length  of  the  glacier  leading  up  to  the 
Mustagh  Pass,  and  the  snowy  barrier  over  which  it  leads. 
When  two  years  before  I had  painfully  struggled  up,  I had 
thought  I should  never  set  eyes  on  it  again,  but  here  once 
more  it  lay  before  me,  and  I pictured  to  myself  each  little 
incident  in  that  hard  tussle  with  the  mountains. 

Descending  the  spur,  I found  the  caravan  was  still  far 
behind.  Darkness  had  come  on,  and  Suget  Jangal,  the 
only  spot  in  the  valley  where  grass  and  firewood  could  be 
obtained,  was  still  some  miles  distant.  The  caravan  did 
not  know  where  I was,  and  I did  not  know  where  the 
caravan  was,  except  that  it  was  not  above  me  in  the  valley, 
and  must  therefore  be  below.  So  I employed  a means  of 
signalling  which  was  of  the  greatest  service  to  me  on  this 


1889]  SEARCHING  FOR  THE  SHIMSHAL  PASS  215 

occasion.  This  was  a piece  of  magnesium  wire  which  I 
lighted,  and  so  at  once  attracted  the  attention  of  my  men 
far  away  down  the  valley,  and  as  they  came  near  enough 
they  answered  with  the  whistles  which  had  been  served 
out  to  each  man  of  the  escort.  Shortly  after  ten  o clock  at 
night,  after  a rough  scramble  over  the  rocky  boulders 
which  strewed  the  valley  bottom,  we  reached  our  camping- 
ground  at  Suget  Jangal. 

From  about  a mile  above  this  a large  glacier  could  be 
seen  flowing  from  the  westward  down  a wide  valley,  at  the 
head  of  which  I thought  might  be  the  Shimshal  Pass. 
My  Kirghiz  guide  assured  me  that  the  Shimshal  Pass  did 
not  lie  there.  But  guides  are  not  infallible.  On  our  maps 
the  Shimshal  Pass  was  marked  very  nearly  where  the 
head  of  the  glacier  would  be  ; and  though  I knew  this  was 
only  from  conjecture,  for  no  European  had  yet  been  any- 
where near  the  Shimshal  Pass,  I thought  I would  just 
have  a look,  and  if  I were  wrong,  as  I indeed  proved  to  be, 

I could  come  back  and  meekly  follow  this  Kirghiz  guide 
wherever  he  chose  to  take  me. 

I therefore  left  the  heavy  baggage  under  the  charge  of 
one  Gurkha  and  a Bald  coolie,  and  set  out  for  the  explora- 
tion of  the  glacier,  with  twelve  ponies  carrying  supplies 
and  fuel  for  twelve  days  for  my  party  and  escort.  On 
September  23  we  left  Suget  Jangal,  and  by  midday  were 
again  on  a glacier. 

We  had  a rather  rough  march  up  the  glacier  that  day, 
but  not  so  bad  as  on  the  way  to  the  Saltoro  Pass.  The 
way  to  attack  these  glaciers  is  evidently  this  : first  to  keep 
along  the  side  of  the  glacier,  on  the  lateral  moraine,  close 
to  the  mountain-side  ; you  here  get  some  very  fair  going, 
though  also,  at  times,  some  nasty  pieces,  where  great, 
rough,  sharp  boulders  are  heaped  one  on  the  other,  as  at 
the  mouth  of  a quarry.  Presently  the  glacier  closes  in  on 
the  mountain-side,  and  you  have  then  to  take  a favourable 
opportunity  of  plunging  into  the  centre  of  the  glacier,  and 
ascending  the  part  of  it  which  is  best  covered  with  gravel 
moraine.  Some  very  careful  steering  is  here  necessary  to 
keep  clear  of  the  crevasses  ; and  the  poiiies,  and  men  too. 


2i6  among  the  glaciers  [chap.  X 

often  have  a hard  time  of  it,  trying  to  keep  their  legs  in 
ascending  slopes  where  the  gravel  barely  covers  the  ice. 
We  took  our  plunge  into  the  middle  of  this  glacier  at 
midday.  Snow  was  falling,  at  4.30  p.m.  the  clouds  be- 
came so  heavy,  and  it  was  altogether  so  threatening,  that 
I thought  it  best  to  halt.  Of  course,  no  grass  or  fuel  was 
obtainable  ; but  we  had  brought  two  pony-loads  of  wood 
with  us,  so  were  quite  happy,  though  this  was  not  a 
particularly  cheerful-looking  spot,  with  the  snow  falling 
hard,  the  great  white  ice-pinnacles  of  the  glaciers  rising 
all  round,  the  mountains  hidden  by  the  heavy  snow-clouds, 
and  no  place  to  encamp  on  but  a very  stony  hollow. 

The  Gurkha  havildar  was  in  great  form.  He  had  a 
joke  about  getting  hold  of  some  “ narm  pattar  ” (soft 
stones)  to  lie  on,  which  kept  him  and  all  the  Gurkhas  in 
roars  of  laughter.  I asked  him  where  he  had  got  the  joke 
from,  and  he  said  some  sahib  had  made  it  at  Kabul  in  the 
Afghan  war. 

On  the  following  morning  we  set  out  in  a heavy  snow- 
storm— so  heavy  that  even  the  bases  of  the  mountains  on 
each  side  of  the  glacier  were  at  times  not  visible,  and  the 
summits  were  not  seen  till  midday,  and  then  only  in 
glimpses.  Immediately  on  leaving  camp  we  were  con- 
fronted by  a series  of  very  bad  crevasses,  running  right 
across  our  path.  Things  looked  hopeless  at  one  time,  and 
it  was  like  finding  a way  through  a maze.  The  naik  and 
I went  on  ahead,  and  by  going  from  one  end  of  each 
crevasse  to  the  other,  we  managed  in  every  case  to  find 
a way  across,  though  to  advance  a hundred  yards  we  often 
had  to  go  at  least  six  times  that  distance,  and  once  we 
completely  lost  our  front  in  the  maze  and  the  snowstorm, 
and  were  wandering  off  up  a side  glacier,  till  I recognised 
that  we  were  in  the  wrong  direction  by  a hillside  appear- 
ing through  the  mist. 

We  finally  got  clear  of  the  bad  crevasses,  and  then  had 
a fairly  clear  run  for  a couple  of  miles,  and  were  begin- 
ning to  congratulate  ourselves  that  we  had  got  over  the 
worst  of  the  glacier,  when  we  came  upon  another  series  of 
crevasses  of  the  most  desperate  description — the  ice,  in 


i88g] 


CROSSING  THE  GLACIER 


217 


fact,  was  so  split  up  that,  though  the  whole  party  explored 
in  all  directions,  we  could  find  no  possible  way  of  getting 
the  ponies  along.  I therefore  decided  upon  encamping, 
and  going  on  the  morrow  with  a few  men  lightly  loaded 
to  the  pass.  I had  some  tiffin — a rather  important  point 
on  these  occasions  when  the  time  of  the  real  tussle  has 
arrived,  and  you  are  feeling  down  with  things  in  general 
— and  then  started  off  to  explore  a route  for  the  men  to 
follow  ; but  although  I went  in  and  out  everywhere  along 
the  whole  front,  I found  it  impossible  to  get  ahead.  I then 
returned  to  camp,  had  a cup  of  good  hot  tea,  and  set  out 
again  backwards  ; but  it  was  no  go.  We  were  in  a regular 
cid  de  sac ; ahead  were  impassable  crevasses,  and  on  each 
side  were  the  main  lines  of  the  glacier  pinnacles  of  pure 
ice,  still  more  impracticable  than  the  crevasses. 

On  September  16  we  started  back  down  the  glacier, 
snow  still  falling  heavily.  The  Gurkha  naik,  Shahzad 
Mir,  and  myself  kept  looking  everywhere  for  some  way  of 
getting  off  the  glacier  on  to  the  mountain-side,  where  it 
was  evident  we  should  find  a passable  road.  Once  or 
twice  we  got  right  up  to  the  edge  of  the  glacier,  but  just  a 
few  crevasses  and  broken  crags  of  ice  always  prevented  us 
from  actually  reaching  terra  firma.  I was  on  the  point  of 
giving  up,  when  I saw  what  seemed  to  be  a practicable 
route.  The  others  stayed  behind,  saying  it  was  impossible; 
but  I went  on  and  on,  and  at  last  reached  the  edge  of  the 
glacier,  and  only  a pond,  heaped  up  with  blocks  of  ice  and 
frozen  over,  separated  me  from  the  mountain-side.  The 
ice  was  very  treacherous,  but,  by  feeling  about  with  my 
alpenstock,  I got  across  safely;  and  then,  going  along  the 
mountain-side  for  some  distance,  found  a very  promising 
route,  which  I followed  up  for  some  little  distance. 

On  returning  to  the  lake  I found  the  naik  and  Shahzad 
Mir  had  followed  me,  the  former  having  got  across  all 
right,  but  Shahzad  Mir  had  gone  through  the  ice  up  to  his 
waist.  The  water  was  far  out  of  his  depth,  and  he  had 
only  saved  himself  by  clinging  on  to  a large  block  of  ice 
close  by.  On  returning  across  the  lake  I also  went 
through  twice,  but  as  I thought  the  ice  would  be  stronger 


2i8  among  the  glaciers  [chap.  X 

by  the  next  morning,  I hurried  after  the  rest  of  the  party, 
whom  I had  ordered  to  stop  at  a certain  point,  and  then 
brought  back  my  own  kit,  some  supplies,  grain  for  the 
ponies,  and  a pony-load  of  wood  to  a spot  as  near  to  the 
lake  as  ponies  could  go,  while  I sent  the  Gurkhas  back  to 
Suget  Jangal. 

My  intention  was  to  try  to  reach  the  supposed  pass 
with  three  men  carrying  loads.  I at  first  meant  to  go 
without  a tent,  but  as  it  was  still  snowing  hard,  and  a 
bitter  wind  blowing,  while  in  the  night  the  thermometer 
had  fallen  to  six  degrees,  and  at  the  head  of  the  glacier 
would  probably  be  below  zero,  I decided  upon  taking  the 
small  servants’  tent  which  I was  using  on  this  detached 
expedition.  We  carried  the  poles  as  alpenstocks,  leaving 
the  pegs  behind,  as  we  could  use  stones  instead,  so  that 
the  whole  weight  of  the  tent  was  not  more  than  twenty 
pounds ; and  all  four  could  sleep  in  it  at  night.  The 
weather  was  anything  but  cheering,  and  the  snow  very 
trying,  especially  for  the  men,  who  had  to  do  the  cooking 
in  the  open.  I,  fortunately,  brought  only  hill-men  well 
accustomed  to  this  work.  I knew  well  what  it  would  be, 
and  would  on  no  account  bring  a plain-servant  or  even  a 
Kashmiri  with  me.  The  packs  arrived  covered  thick  with 
snow,  and  neither  my  men  nor  myself  had  a single  dry 
pair  of  boots  ; nor  could  we  dry  our  clothes,  for  we  could 
only  afford  a very  small  fire,  which  was  not  sufficient  to 
dry  anything  faster  than  the  falling  snow  wetted  it  again. 
The  floor  of  my  tent  was  snow,  under  that  a few  inches  of 
gravel,  and  then  two  or  three  hundred  feet  of  ice.  How- 
ever, a good  comfortable  sheepskin  coat  helps  one  to  defy 
a lot  of  discomfort.  Each  of  the  men  had  also  a good 
sheepskin  coat,  with  which  I provided  them  at  Shahidula, 
so  we  were  pretty  cheery  in  spite  of  the  snow  and  cold. 

September  27  was  a fine  sunny  morning.  We  started 
off  three  men  (Shukar  Ali,  Ramzan,  and  Abdula)  carrying 
loads,  and  I had  prepared  a light  load  for  myself,  but  the 
men  would  not  hear  of  my  carrying  it,  and  insisted  upon 
carrying  it  themselves.  I could  not  have  had  better  or 
more  willing  men  ; no  amount  of  hard  work  ever  stopped 


ICY  MAGNIFICENCE 


219 


1889] 

them.  We  got  down  to  the  lake  all  right,  and  there  we 
were  suddenly  brought  up.  The  lake  is  fed  from  the 
melting  of  the  glacier,  but,  as  the  sun  had  not  appeared 
for  the  last  few  days,  the  water  had  diminished  several 
feet,  while  the  layer  of  ice  remained  at  the  top.  This 
layer  had  now  fallen  here  and  there,  and  though  on  the 
previous  day  it  was  treacherous  enough,  now  it  was  quite 
impracticable,  especially  for  men  with  loads.  I ventured 
a few  yards  on  to  the  ice,  but,  seeing  it  falling  through  all 
round  me  with  sharp  reports,  I hurried  back,  and  we  had 
then  to  give  up  all  hopes  of  reaching  the  pass.  With 
time  and  with  a proper  Alpine  equipment  we  might 
doubtless  have  found  a way  up  the  glacier  and  perhaps 
over  the  depression  in  the  range  at  its  head  which  we  had 
supposed  to  be  a pass,  but  we  had  gone  far  enough  to  see 
that  this  was  not  the  real  Shimshal  Pass,  for  which  we 
were  searching  ; so,  as  we  could  not  afford  to  spend  any 
more  time  on  these  ineffectual  struggles  with  the  glacier, 
we  returned  to  our  late  camping-ground,  loaded  up  the 
ponies,  and  started  off  back  to  Suget  Jangal. 

But  though  I had  not  found  the  pass  I was  seeking,  I 
could  never  regret  spending  those  six  days  on  the  glacier 
in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  The  glacier  itself  was 
marvellously  beautiful,  and  the  mountains  from  which  it 
flowed,  and  which  towered  above  it,  formed  the  main 
range  of  the  Himalayas.  With  the  sides  of  the  valley 
hidden  by  the  clouds,  one  could  believe  one’s  self  to  be  in 
the  midst  of  the  Arctic  region.  The  centre  of  the  glacier 
was  a mass  of  pinnacles  of  opaque  white  ice,  of  every 
fantastic  form  and  shape.  Then  among  these  were  beauti- 
ful caverns  of  ice  with  walls  of  transparent  green,  long 
icicles  hanging  from  the  roof,  and  the  entrance  screened 
by  fringes  of  these  same  dainty  pendants.  When  I can 
free  my  mind  from  the  overpowering  sense  of  grandeur 
which  the  mountains  produce,  and  from  the  thoughts  of 
the  stern,  hard  work  we  had  to  go  through  in  those  parts, 
I think  of  the  beauty  of  that  glacier  scenery,  the  delicate 
transparency  of  the  walls  of  ice,  the  exquisite  tinting  of 
the  blues  and  greens  upon  it,  the  fairy  caverns,  the  deep 


220 


AMONG  THE  GLACIERS 


[chap.  X 


crevasses,  and  the  pinnacles  of  ice,  as  forming  a spectacle 
unsurpassed  in  its  purity  of  loveliness.  Other  scenes  are 
beautiful,  and  yet  others  are  impressive  by  their  grandeur. 
The  verdure-covered  hills  and  vales  of  England ; the 
clear,  placid  lakes  of  Switzerland  ; and  rivers  with  their 
verges  fringed  with  foliage,  are  beautiful  ; and  the  frown- 
ing precipices  and  bold,  rugged  peaks  seen  in  any  moun- 
tain country  are  grand.  But  it  is  high  up  among  the 
loftiest  mountain  summits,  where  all  is  shrouded  in  un- 
sullied whiteness,  where  nothing  polished  dares  pollute, 
that  the  very  essence  of  sublimity  must  be  sought  for.  It 
is  there  indeed  that  the  grand  and  beautiful  unite  to  form 
the  sublime. 

I called  the  glacier  the  Crevasse  Glacier,  on  account  of 
the  great  number  and  size  of  the  crevasses,  which  were 
wider,  deeper,  and  far  more  frequent  than  I have  seen  on 
any  other  glacier,  and  this  I attribute  to  the  bends.  The 
widest  branch  comes  from  the  south  and  makes  a bend 
almost  at  right  angles  at  the  furthest  point  we  reached, 
and  is  here  joined  by  a longer  but  narrower  branch  from 
the  pass.  The  length  is  about  twenty-four  miles,  and 
the  breadth  from  a thousand  to  twelve  hundred  yards. 
It  ends  at  an  elevation  of  thirteen  thousand  feet  above 
sea-level,  at  a projecting  spur  of  black  rock,  which  is 
opposite  to  a stream  issuing  from  a small  glacier  running 
down  from  the  second  peak  on  the  southern  side.  Its 
lower  extremity,  for  more  than  two  miles,  is  entirely 
covered  with  moraine,  but  higher  up  it  presents  the 
magnificent  spectacle  of  a sea  of  pure  white  peaks  of  ice, 
with  numerous  similar  glaciers  of  smaller  size  running 
down  to  it  from  the  lofty  snowy  mountains  on  the  southern 
side.  On  the  north  only  one  glacier  of  any  size  joins  in, 
and  it  is  evident  that  the  southern  range  gets  far  the 
greater  portion  of  the  snowfall,  although  the  mountains  on 
the  north  are  in  some  cases  very  little  inferior  in  height. 
The  Crevasse  Glacier  seemed  to  me  to  be  retiring  ; at  any 
rate  I should  certainly  say  it  was  not  advancing,  for  the 
moraine  was  deposited  some  few  hundred  yards  in  advance 
of  the  ice  of  the  glacier,  and  there  were  marks  of  glacial 


COMFORT  AGAIN 


221 


i88g] 

action  on  the  mountain-sides  far  above  the  present  level 
of  the  glacier.  The  small  glaciers  — those  resembling 
clotted  cream  — on  the  mountain  slopes  were  certainly- 
retiring.  The  glacier  was  very  much  lower  in  the  centre 
than  at  the  sides,  and  at  the  sides  were  the  remains  of 
successive  beds  of  conglomerate,  compact  and  hard,  and 
level  at  the  top,  of  a different  character  altogether  from  glacial 
moraine,  so  that  it  appeared  as  if  there  had  formerly  been 
a thick  bed  of  conglomerate  filling  up  the  valley,  and 
that  it  had  now  been  swept  out  by  the  glacier.  This, 
however,  is  only  in  the  lower  half,  where  the  mountain 
slopes  are  comparatively  gentle  and  formed  of  shingle  ; 
higher  up,  the  sides  are  precipitous,  and  there  are  no  signs 
of  the  conglomerate  formation.  The  fall  of  the  glacier  as 
far  as  we  went  was  two  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty 
feet  in  twenty-four  thousand  four  hundred  yards,  or  about 
one  in  thirty-two.  Its  general  direction  is  N.N.W. 

It  was  a glorious  morning  as  we  descended  the  glacier — 
clear  and  bright,  as  it  can  be  only  at  these  great  mountain 
heights.  I set  off  at  a good  pace  ahead  of  the  men  and 
ponies,  so  as  to  get  back  to  the  luxury  of  my  larger  tent, 
table,  chairs,  books,  and  papers  as  quickly  as  possible. 
As  I approached  the  Suget  Jangal  camp,  the  men,  when 
they  saw  me  alone,  came  rushing  out,  thinking  something 
desperate  must  have  happened.  I told  them  that  all  the 
matter  was  that  I wanted  some  lunch  and  a change  of 
lower  garments,  for  I had  had  to  ford  the  glacier  stream, 
which,  being  of  melted  ice,  was  so  cold  that  it  took  the 
breath  completely  out  of  my  body  as  I waded  through 
the  water.  It  was  glorious  getting  into  some  clean,  dry 
clothing,  then  into  a comfortable  ulster,  and  then  after 
a good  tiffin,  sitting  in  a chair  and  having  a quiet  read. 
My  appearance,  though,  was  not  becoming,  for  my  eyes 
were  bloodshot  and  inflamed  from  partial  snow-blindness, 
and  my  nose,  ears,  and  lips  blistered  from  the  bitter  wind, 
while  my  hands  were  cut  and  scratched  from  frequent 
falls  on  the  slippery  glacier,  and  my  knuckles  cracked 
from  the  cold.  But  I and  all  my  party  were  very  fit  and 
well — far  better,  I think,  than  when  we  left  India. 


CHAPTER  XI 


A KANJUTI  STRONGHOLD 
N September  30,  after  a day’s  rest  at  Suget  Jangal, 


V_y  we  resumed  our  journey  down  the  valley  of  the 
Oprang  River,  and  halted  that  night  at  a fine  patch  of 
grass  about  a quarter  of  a mile  long,  to  see  which  was 
a welcome  relief  after  the  never-ending  snow  and  rocks 
usually  met  with.  Our  next  day’s  march  was  a very 
disagreeable  one,  as  a bitter  wind,  which  brought  with 
it  clouds  of  gritty  dust,  was  blowing  straight  in  our  faces 
up  the  valley.  My  pony  to-day,  although  he  had  been 
left  at  Suget  Jangal  while  I was  exploring  the  glacier, 
and  although  he  was  a hardy  Yarkandi,  had  now  become 
so  weak  that  three  men  could  not  drag  him  along,  and 
at  last  he  sank  down  by  the  way,  and  as  we  could  not  get 
him  up  again,  I had  to  shoot  him. 

We  made  another  march  down  the  valley  of  the  Oprang 
River,  and  a very  trying  one  it  proved,  for  we  had  to 
cross  the  river  eleven  times,  and,  as  it  had  now  become 
more  than  waist-deep,  and  very  rapid,  running  over  a 
bottom  covered  with  boulders,  it  was  at  times  dangerous 
work.  As  I rode  the  only  pony  without  a load,  I used 
to  do  the  reconnoitring  for  fords.  But  even  when  a place 
fairly  passable  had  been  found,  it  was  hard  to  keep  the 
ponies  straight  to  it ; they  would  drift  away  with  the 
current  into  deep  places,  and  the  packs  got  horribly 
wet.  The  crossings  were  most  exciting  work,  everybody 
shouting  with  all  his  might  at  the  ponies,  and  throwing 
stones  at  them  to  keep  them  straight.  In  spite  of  it  all, 
we  would  see  the  ponies,  with  our  clothes  or  bedding,  fall 
into  a pool  with  the  water  nearly  over  their  backs.  Most 


222 


1889]  SEARCHING  FOR  CHONG  JANGAL  223 

of  the  men  got  on  the  top  of  the  packs,  but  some  waded 
through  the  water,  and  they  had  a rough  time  of  it. 

We  passed  the  Shimshal  River,  up  which  lies  the  route 
to  Hunza  we  were  seeking  for,  but  we  were  rather  short 
of  grain  for  the  ponies,  on  account  of  their  having  had 
more  than  their  usual  share  on  the  glaciers,  where  they 
could  get  no  grass,  and,  as  I calculated  from  observations 
for  latitude  that  we  could  not  be  far  from  Chong  Jangal, 
where  I hoped  to  find  Turdi  Kol  with  a fresh  relay  of 
supplies,  I thought  it  best  to  go  there  first. 

Chong  Jangal  was  the  point  on  the  Yarkand  River 
where  it  was  believed  the  Oprang  River  joined  it.  As 
I have  already  said,  we  could  not  carry  all  the  necessary 
supplies  with  us,  but  had  to  carry  them  in  two  instalments. 
We  had  reached  the  end  of  our  first  instalment,  and  had 
to  look  out  for  the  second.  There  was  no  map  of  this 
region,  and  I could  find  no  man  with  any  full  or  accurate 
knowledge  of  it,  or  any  information  at  all  about  what  lay 
between  the  Shimshal  Pass  and  the  Yarkand  River.  All 
I could  do  was  to  tell  Turdi  Kol  to  go  along  the  Yarkand 
River  with  the  second  instalment  to  this  place,  Chong 
Jangal,  where  he  said  a large  river  joined  in  from  the 
south.  This  he  thought  must  be  the  Oprang  River, 
whose  upper  waters  I should  be  exploring.  The  supplies 
would  therefore  be  at  Chong  Jangal ; but  whether  the 
river  which  joined  in  there  really  was  the  Oprang  River, 
and  whether,  even  if  it  was,  my  party  would  be  able  to 
get  along  it,  nobody  knew.  The  river  might  have  flowed 
far  away  from  Chong  Jangal.  It  might  never  join  the 
Yarkand  River  at  all,  or  it  might  flow  through  gorges 
along  which  it  would  be  impossible  to  take  our  ponies. 
Of  all  this  we  had  to  take  our  chance.  But  Turdi  Kol 
had  been  down  the  Yarkand  River  before,  and  before 
leaving  it  at  Surakwat  I had  got  him  to  tell  me  about  how 
many  miles  lower  down  Chong  Jangal  was,  and  the 
general  direction  in  which  it  lay,  and,  marking  that  point 
approximately  on  the  map,  I had  worked  out  my  own  sur- 
vey down  the  Oprang  River  and  calculated  that  we  must 
be  now  nearing  the  meeting-place,  so  our  next  few  marches 


224 


A KANJUTI  STRONGHOLD 


[chap.  XI 

were  full  of  interest  and  excitement,  and  each  turn  we 
took  I expected  to  see  some  signs  of  the  Yarkand  River. 

On  October  3,  then,  we  continued  our  march  down  the 
Oprang  River  ; but  just  when  it  ought  to  have  struck 
Chong  Jangal  it  turned  round  and  went  back  again,  up- 
setting all  my  calculations,  and  after  a very  hard  and  try- 
ing day  we  were  still  far  from  Chong  Jangal,  although  at 
about  noon  I thought  we  had  really  reached  there.  I saw 
ahead  one  valley  running  in  a direction  east  to  west,  and 
another  in  a northerly  direction,  and  at  the  junction  a 
patch  of  good  jungle  and  grass.  This  exactly  answered 
to  Turdi  Kol’s  description  of  the  position  of  Chong  Jangal, 
and  it  was  a great  blow  when  I found,  instead  of  the 
Yarkand  River  flowing  down  the  valley  ahead  in  a 
westerly  direction,  it  was  still  this  Oprang  River  which 
flowed  down  it  in  an  easterly  direction,  having  deliberately 
turned  round  and  gone  backwards.  It  was  very  trying, 
because  it  has  to  be  crossed  and  recrossed  so  many  times, 
and  each  crossing  becomes  more  difficult,  and  even  dan- 
gerous. Three  times  that  day,  in  reconnoitring  for  a ford, 
my  pony  was  as  nearly  as  possible  washed  off  his  legs, 
and  the  water  came  over  the  seat  of  the  saddle,  leaving 
only  the  pony’s  head  and  the  upper  part  of  my  body  out 
of  the  water,  while  I was  expecting  every  minute  to  have 
to  swim  for  it.  The  water,  too,  was  fearfully  cold,  for 
there  was  not  a drop  of  water  in  this  river  that  did  not 
come  from  the  glaciers.  And  to  add  to  our  troubles, 
a nasty  wind,  with  clouds  of  gritty  sand,  was  blowing 
down  the  valley  the  whole  day  long.  Altogether  it  was 
one  of  the  most  trying  days  I have  experienced  on  a 
journey,  though  I ought  not  to  complain  so  much  as 
the  unfortunate  men,  who  had  to  wade  through  the  icy 
water. 

The  Gurkhas  managed  to  clamber  along  the  hillsides 
like  goats,  but,  unfortunately,  at  the  end  of  the  day  they 
were  at  the  other  side  of  the  river  to  our  camp.  We  had 
halted  because  we  had  not  been  able  to  find  a ford ; for 
the  water  had  risen,  as  it  always  does  in  the  afternoon,  on 
account  of  the  melting  of  the  glaciers  during  the  day.  I 


PLUCKY  GURKHAS 


225 


1889] 

was  very  anxious  as  to  how  I should  get  them  across,  and 
was  just  mounting  a pony  to  try  the  stream,  when  the 
first  two  Gurkhas  appeared  on  the  other  side,  and,  without 
cogitating  about  it  for  half  an  hour,  as  I had  done, 
promptly  proceeded  to  wade  through  the  water  in  the  most 
happy-go-lucky  way.  I shouted  to  them  to  stop  till  I had 
tried  the  depth,  but  on  account  of  the  roar  of  the  water 
they  did  not  hear.  How  they  got  through  I don’t  know, 
for  the  water  came  nearly  up  to  their  armpits  ; it  was  icy 
cold,  the  current  very  strong,  and  the  bottom  covered 
with  boulders,  and  I know  from  our  experiences  in  Man- 
churia what  that  means.  However,  they  got  across  all 
right,  and  landed  with  a broad  grin  on  their  faces,  as 
if  crossing  rivers  were  the  greatest  possible  joke.  I then 
rode  across,  leading  another  pony  with  me.  I took  up 
one  Gurkha  behind  me  from  the  other  side,  and  mounted 
the  remaining  two  on  the  second  pony,  which  I brought 
across.  We  then  started  back.  Once  or  twice  my  pony 
gave  some  ugly  lurches,  and  I thought  we  were  gone ; 
but  we  got  across  all  right,  and  I gave  the  Gurkhas  a drop 
of  whisky  all  round  to  cheer  their  stout  little  hearts. 

Next  day  we  arrived  at  Chong  Jangal  at  last,  but  found 
no  Turdi  Kol,  no  supplies,  and  no  letters.  I thought  we 
were  never  going  to  arrive  there.  We  rounded  spur  after 
spur,  and  at  each  I expected  to  see  the  Yarkand  River, 
and  Chong  Jangal  on  the  other  side.  In  the  afternoon, 
after  rounding  a great  bend  of  the  Oprang  River,  we 
entered  a wide  pebbly  plain,  and  in  the  distance  could  see 
an  extensive  jungle.  I thought  it  might  be  Chong  Jangal, 
but  could  see  no  signs  of  the  Yarkand  River.  After 
riding  a mile  or  two,  however,  I crossed  a considerable 
stream  running  over  the  pebbly  plain.  It  was  much 
smaller  than  the  Yarkand  was  when  we  left  it  at  Surakwat 
higher  up,  and,  instead  of  being  a muddy  colour  as  it 
then  was,  was  a clear  blue,  so  I decided  that  it  could  not 
be  that  river,  and  that  Chong  Jangal  must  be  on  the  other 
side  of  the  next  spur,  several  miles  ahead.  I was  greatly 
delighted,  therefore,  when,  on  the  baggage  coming  up, 
the  Kirghiz  guide  said  that  this  really  was  the  Yarkand 
2 


226 


A KANJUTI  STRONGHOLD 


[chap.  XI 


River  after  all,  though  very  much  diminished  since  we 
last  saw  it,  because  the  melting  of  the  snows  had  almost 
ceased,  and  that  the  jungle  ahead  was  Chong  Jangal.  I 
hurried  on  then  to  see  if  Turdi  Kol  had  arrived,  but  was 
disappointed  to  find  no  traces  of  him. 

Chong  Jangal  we  found  to  be  an  extensive  stretch  of 
jungle  for  these  parts,  where  the  mountain-sides  are  nearly 
absolutely  bare,  and  only  a few  patches  of  brushwood, 
generally  dwarf  willows  and  juniper,  are  to  be  found  in 
the  valley  bottom.  This  jungle  was  two  miles  long  and 
half  a mile  broad.  Some  of  the  willows  were  from  fifteen 
to  twenty  feet  high,  and  there  was  plenty  of  good  grass. 
There  were,  too,  the  remains  of  houses,  and  the  spot  had 
been  inhabited  and  cultivated  at  one  time,  and,  now  that 
the  raids  from  Hunza  have  been  put  an  end  to  by  the 
Indian  Government,  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not 
be  so  again. 

On  October  6,  a Kirghiz  came  riding  into  camp  with  a 
very  welcome  post,  the  first  I had  received  for  a month 
since  leaving  Shahidula.  He  had  followed  our  tracks  all 
round.  By  this  post  I heard  from  Colonel  Nisbet  that  the 
Hunza  chief,  Safder  Ali,  had  been  very  truculent  on  Cap- 
tain Durand’s  visit,  and  I was  warned  to  be  careful  about 
entering  the  country  ; but  a subsequent  letter  said  that 
the  chief  had  apologised  for  his  rudeness,  and  promised 
to  allow  me  to  go  through.  With  such  a man  I could 
not,  however,  be  very  sure  of  my  reception,  and  was  all 
the  more  keen  to  reach  his  country  and  test  his  feelings  as 
soon  as  possible. 

But  the  second  instalment  of  supplies  had  not  yet 
arrived,  and  each  day  I looked  anxiously  up  the  valley 
of  the  Yarkand  River  for  signs  of  Turdi  Kol,  as  I was 
beginning  to  fear  some  mishap,  and  to  imagine  that  we 
should  be  stranded  in  the  middle  of  these  mountains 
without  anything  to  eat.  At  last,  on  October  lo,  Turdi 
Kol  arrived  with  the  long-expected  supplies,  and  we  then 
retraced  our  steps  to  the  junction  of  the  Shimshal  River, 
and  ascended  the  valley  through  which  it  flows. 

Up  this  valley,  at  five  miles  from  its  junction  with  the 


DARWAZA 


227 


1889] 

Oprang,  is  a Kanjuti  outpost  called  Darwaza,  or  “The 
Gate.”  It  was  from  this  place  that  the  raiders  started  on 
their  expeditions,  and  as  we  ascended  the  wild,  narrow 
mountain  valley  in  which  it  is  situated,  we  wondered  what 
sort  of  reception  we  should  meet  with  from  these  robber 
bands.  Rounding  a spur,  we  saw  in  the  distance  a tower 
erected  on  the  top  of  a cliff,  and  approaching  nearer  we 
saw  that  the  whole  line  of  the  cliff,  where  it  was  at  all 
accessible,  was  covered  by  a loop-holed  wall,  at  the  upper 
end  of  which  was  a second  tower.  The  cliff  formed  the 
bank  of  a deep  ravine,  which  cut  transversely  across  the 
main  valley.  Looking  up  the  valley  on  the  right  was 
the  unfordable  Shimshal  River ; on  the  left  were  pre- 
cipitous mountains,  and  in  front  this  deep  ravine.  The 
only  possible  way  up  the  valley  was  by  a difficult  zigzag 
path  up  the  side  of  this  ravine,  and  that  was  guarded  by 
the  two  towers.  Some  smoke  was  curling  up  from 
these  towers,  so  we  knew  that  they  were  tenanted,  and 
the  exciting  moment  had  now  arrived  when  we  should 
have  to  beard  these  raiders  in  their  very  den. 

I carefully  reconnoitred  the  position  with  my  field- 
glasses,  so  as  to  be  able  to  decide  on  our  best  plan  of 
action  in  case  of  a hostile  reception.  The  path  zigzagged 
down  one  side  of  the  ravine,  which  was  about  two  hun- 
dred feet  deep,  and  up  the  other,  and  passed  immediately 
under  the  wall  and  through  a gateway  in  the  tower.  It 
would  have  been  impossible  to  effect  an  entrance  if  the 
Kanjutis  chose  to  be  hostile,  for  even  if  they  did  not  fire 
at  us,  they  could  have  annihilated  us  by  hurling  down 
stones.  I thought,  therefore,  that  my  best  plan  would  be 
not  to  commit  my  whole  party  to  such  a risk,  but  to  go 
on  with  an  interpreter,  and  leave  the  Gurkhas  on  the  top 
of  the  cliff  on  our  side  of  the  ravine,  to  cover  the  retreat 
in  case  the  Kanjutis  proved  hostile.  Having  made  these 
dispositions,  I set  off  down  into  the  ravine  accompanied 
by  Ramzan,  the  interpreter,  and  Shahzad  Mir,  the 
orderly,  who  spoke  Persian.  We  had  not  gone  very 
far,  when  the  Gurkha  naik  came  running  after  us  and 
said  that  at  Shahidula  I had  promised  that  he  should  be 


228  A KANJUTI  STRONGHOLD  [chap,  xi 

allowed  to  go  first.  The  reader  will  remember  that  the 
timid  Kirghiz  had  prophesied  that  whoever  should  appear 
first  before  this  Kanjuti  outpost  would  certainly  be  killed, 
and  I had  in  chaff  said  to  the  Gurkha  naik  that  he  should 
be  sent  on  first,  and  now,  taking  my  word  seriously,  he 
had  claimed  this  as  a privilege. 

We  had  descended  to  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  and 
climbed  half-way  up  the  opposite  bank.  The  door 
through  the  tower  was  still  open,  and  no  one  could  be 
seen  about,  when  suddenly  the  door  was  banged,  the 
wall  was  manned  by  wild-looking  Kanjutis,  shouting 
and  waving  us  back,  and  pointing  their  matchlocks  at 
us.  We  were  not  fifty  feet  from  them,  and  I expected  at 
any  moment  to  have  bullets  and  stones  whizzing  about 
our  ears ; so  I halted  and  beckoned  to  them,  holding  up 
one  finger  and  signing  to  them  in  this  way  to  send  one 
man  down  to  us.  Gradually  the  hubbub  ceased  ; they 
still  kept  their  matchlocks  pointed  at  us,  but  the  door 
was  opened  and  two  men  came  down  to  us.  We  had  a 
long  parley  together,  and  I told  them  who  I was,  that  I 
was  coming  to  visit  their  chief,  and  that  Captain  Durand 
had  already  spoken  to  Safder  Ali  about  my  coming. 
They  said  they  had  heard  of  this,  but  they  wished  to 
make  quite  sure  that  I had  not  an  army  with  me,  so  I 
sent  them  to  count  for  themselves  exactly  how  many  men 
I had.  The  Gurkhas  then  joined  me,  and  we  passed 
through  the  tower  together ; but  just  at  the  entrance, 
which  was  lined  with  Kanjutis  in  a double  row,  a man 
rushed  at  my  pony  and  seized  the  bridle.  I thought  for 
a moment  there  was  treachery.  The  Gurkhas  sprang 
forward,  and  in  half  a second  there  would  have  been 
a scrimmage,  when  the  man  let  go,  and  laughed,  and 
said  he  had  only  intended  it  as  a joke. 

We  then  all  gathered  together  round  a fire  on  the 
inside  of  this  line  of  wall,  and  now  fresh  difficulties 
arose.  The  Kanjutis  said  that  all  the  Kirghiz  with  me 
must  go  on  to  Hunza ; but  this  I could  not  agree  to,  as 
Turdi  Kol  had  to  return  with  the  camels  I had  hired. 
So,  being  now  on  the  right  side  of  the  position,  with  the 


WITHIN  THE  STRONGHOLD 


229 


1889] 

Gurkhas  round  me,  instead  of  the  wrong  side  of  the  wall 
with  the  Kanjuti  matchlocks  pointed  at  us,  I was  able  to 
take  up  a high  tone,  and  tell  these  men  that  I did  not 
intend  to  be  dictated  to  as  to  what  I was  to  do  or  was 
not  to  do.  The  Kirghiz  were  to  go  back,  and  they,  the 
Kanjutis,  would  be  held  responsible  if  they  were  molested 
in  any  way. 

Another  difficulty  was  in  regard  to  Turdi  Kol,  the 
Kirghiz  chief,  who  was  standing  with  us  round  the  fire. 
The  Kanjutis,  not  knowing  who  he  was,  said  to  me  that 
their  chief,  Safder  Ali,  particularly  wanted  to  get  hold  of 
Turdi  Kol,  as  he  had  shot  one  of  the  Kanjutis  in  the  raid 
of  the  previous  year,  and  they  asked  me  where  he  was. 
Turning  to  Turdi  Kol,  but  addressing  him  by  a hypo- 
thetic name,  I said  to  him,  “ Sattiwal,  do  you  know 
where  Turdi  Kol  is?”  Turdi  Kol  replied,  “Yes;  he  is 
behind  with  the  camels.”  And  we  kept  up  this  deceit  the 
whole  time,  though  a little  Gurkha  as  nearly  as  possible 
spoilt  everything  through  calling  Turdi  Kol  by  his  right 
name,  and  then,  discovering  his  mistake,  correcting  him- 
self and  going  off  into  a loud  laugh.  Gurkhas  are  brave, 
cheery  little  men,  but  they  have  not  the  wits  of  a hog. 

We  stood  together  for  a long  time  round  the  fire,  a 
curious  group — rough,  hard,  determined-looking  Kanjutis, 
in  long  loose  woollen  robes,  round  cloth  caps,  long  curls 
hanging  down  their  ears,  matchlocks  slung  over  their 
backs,  and  swords  bound  to  their  sides  ; the  timid,  red- 
faced Kirghiz  ; the  Tartar-featured  Ladakis  ; the  patient, 
long-suffering  Baltis  ; the  sturdy,  jovial  little  Gurkhas  ; 
the  grave  Pathan,  and  a solitary  Englishman,  met  to- 
gether here,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Himalayas,  in  the 
robbers’  stronghold.  It  is  on  thinking  over  occasions 
like  this  that  one  realises  the  extraordinary  influence 
of  the  European  in  Asia,  and  marvels  at  his  power  of 
rolling  on  one  race  upon  another  to  serve  his  purpose. 
An  Asiatic  and  a European  fight,  the  former  is  beaten, 
and  he  immediately  joins  the  European  to  subdue  some 
other  Asiatic.  The  Gurkhas  and  the  Pathans  had  both 
in  former  days  fought  desperately  against  the  British  ; 


230  A KANJUTI  STRONGHOLD  [chap,  xi 

they  were  now  ready  to  fight  equally  desperately  for  the 
British  against  these  raiders  around  us,  and  their 
presence  had  inspired  so  much  confidence  in  the  nervous 
Kirghiz  that  these  even  had  summoned  up  enough 
courage  to  enter  a place  which  they  had  before  never 
thought  of  without  a shudder. 

I now  found  that  the  Hunza  chief  really  meant  to  receive 
me,  and  the  man  in  charge  of  the  outpost  informed  me 
that  an  official  would  meet  me  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Shimshal  Pass  to  welcome  me  in  the  name  of  the  chief. 
So  we  marched  on  towards  the  pass  for  another  three  and 
a half  miles,  to  a camping-ground  called  Afdigar,  where 
grass  and  low  willows  and  other  scrub  for  firewood  were 
plentiful.  A number  of  small  side  nullahs  were  crossed, 
and  each  was  lined  with  a wall  of  defence.  Seven  Hunza 
men  came  on  with  us,  and  the  Gurkhas  quickly  fraternised 
with  them,  winning  their  hearts  by  small  presents  of 
tobacco.  I also  gave  them  a good  dinner,  and  their 
tongues  were  gradually  loosed,  and  on  that  and  other 
nights  that  they  were  with  us  they  told  us  many  interest- 
ing things  about  their  country.  They  complained  much 
of  the  hardships  they  had  to  suffer  on  the  raids,  and  the 
little  benefit  they  got  from  them.  Everything  they  took, 
they  said,  had  to  be  handed  over  to  the  chief,  and  all  the 
raids  were  organised  by  him.  If  they  were  suspected  of 
not  having  given  up  all  they  had,  or  if  the  chief  wanted 
to  squeeze  more  taxes  out  of  them,  they  were  stripped 
naked  and  kept  for  hours  in  a freezing  glacier  stream. 
They  were  in  abject  terror  of  their  chief,  and  during 
their  conversation  they  were  constantly  discussing  the 
probabilities  of  their  heads  being  cut  off.  If  they  did  this 
or  that  they  would  lose  their  heads,  and  they  would  illus- 
trate the  action  by  drawing  the  edge  of  their  hands  across 
their  necks.  They  wore  always  a grave,  hard  look,  as  of 
men  who  lived  in  a constant  struggle  for  existence,  and 
were  too  much  engrossed  by  it  to  think  of  any  of  the 
levities  of  life.  I afterwards  found  that  down  in  the  lower 
valleys  of  Hunza  the  people  are  fond  of  polo  and  dancing, 
but  these  I first  met  were  men  from  the  upper  valleys. 


THE  SHIMSHAL  PASS 


231 


1S89] 

where  the  struggle  is  harder,  and  where  they  were  fre- 
quently turned  out  for  raiding  expeditions. 

On  the  following  day,  October  15,  we  at  last  crossed 
the  Shimshal  Pass,  for  which  I had  been  seeking  during 
so  many  weeks.  The  ascent  was  steep  for  a mile  and 
a half,  but  not  really  difficult,  and  afterwards  the  road 
gradually  ascends  to  the  pass,  which  is  a pamir^  as  the 
Kanjutis  called  it,  that  is,  a nearly  level  plain  or  very 
shallow  and  wide  trough  between  high  mountains  on 
either  side.  A mile  from  the  summit  we  passed  a collec- 
tion of  shepherds’  huts,  used  in  the  summer ; at  the  sum- 
mit, which  was  fourteen  thousand  seven  hundred  feet 
above  sea-level,  there  were  two  small  lakes.  There  was 
no  snow  at  all  on  the  pass,  which  was  a most  un- 
expectedly easy  one.  We  had  been  anticipating 
struggles  with  glaciers  and  climbs  up  rocky  precipices, 
but  here  was  a pass  which  we  could  have  ridden  ponies 
over  if  we  had  wanted  to  do  so. 

This  Shimshal  Pass  forms  one  of  those  remarkable 
depressions  which  are  here  and  there  met  with  in  these 
mountains.  Up  to  this  point  the  Mustagh  Range  is  lofty 
and  rugged  in  the  extreme.  Everywhere  it  is  covered 
with  snow  and  ice,  and  peaks  of  great  height  rise  along 
it.  There  are  within  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Shimshal 
Pass  many  of  these  peaks,  twenty-three  and  twenty-four 
thousand  feet  in  height.  But  here  it  suddenly  drops 
down  to  fifteen  thousand  feet,  and  the  summits  on  the 
northern  side  of  the  pass,  though  still  lofty,  are  smooth 
and  rounded  instead  of  sharp  and  ragged.  The  explana- 
tion that  suggests  itself  to  me  is  that  the  mountains  on 
the  south  side  of  the  pass  are  of  more  recent  upheaval 
than  those  on  the  north,  that  the  latter  have  been  longer 
exposed  to  the  wearing  action  of  the  snow  and  ice,  and 
that  consequently  peaks  which  may  formerly  have  been 
as  lofty  and  rugged  as  those  still  standing  to  the  south 
have  now  become  worn  and  smoothed  down.  And  though 
the  watershed  of  the  Mustagh  Range  runs  across  the  pass 
and  away  in  a northerly  direction  through  the  crests  of 
these  rounded  mountains,  I think  that  it  would  not  be 


232  A KANJUTI  STRONGHOLD  [chap,  xi 

right  to  call  this  the  main  axis,  for  that,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  runs  away  in  a more  westerly  direction  from  the  south 
side  of  the  Shimshal  Pass,  and  passes  along  a few  miles 
above  Hunza.  This  line  passes  through  a series  of 
peaks,  more  than  one  of  which  are  over  twenty-five  thou- 
sand feet  in  height,  and  looked  at  either  on  the  spot  or  on 
the  map  this  appears  to  be  the  true  axis  of  the  range, 
while  the  watershed  to  the  north  seems  merely  a sub- 
sidiary offshoot. 

Descending  by  a steep  zigzag  from  the  Shimshal  Pass, 
we  encamped  near  a second  collection  of  shepherds’  huts, 
to  which  the  Hunza  men  come  in  the  summer  with  their 
flocks.  There  were  patches  of  good  grass  both  here  and 
on  the  flat  surface  of  the  pass,  but  no  trees,  and  only  low 
dwarf  bushes.  On  the  next  morning,  leaving  my  party 
behind  here,  I went  on  with  a few  men  to  examine  the 
country  a little  further  in  the  direction  of  Hunza,  though 
it  was  my  intention  to  return  over  the  Shimshal  Pass,  and 
go  up  on  to  the  Pamirs,  before  finally  proceeding  to  the 
capital  of  the  country.  The  valley  we  were  in  soon 
narrowed  to  a precipitous  gorge,  and  Lieutenant 
Cockerill,  who  explored  it  three  years  later,  confirmed 
the  stories  of  the  Kirghiz,  and  indeed  of  the  Hunza  men 
themselves,  that  the  road  along  it  is  quite  impracticable 
for  ponies,  and  even  very  difficult  for  men. 

An  official,  with  a letter  from  Safder  Ali,  the  chief  of 
Hunza,  came  into  camp  this  day.  Captain  Durand  had 
duly  impressed  him  with  the  necessity  of  seeing  me 
through  his  country,  and  he  accordingly  extended  a 
welcome  to  me.  I wrote  him  back  a letter  thanking  him 
for  his  welcome,  and  saying  I wished  to  travel  on  the 
Pamirs  first,  and  would  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  paying 
him  a visit  a few  weeks  later.  I then  returned  with  my 
party  across  the  Shimshal  Pass,  and  rejoining  Turdi  Kol 
and  the  Kirghiz,  who  had  been  left  behind  with  the 
camels,  again  descended  the  Oprang  River  to  its  junction 
with  the  Yarkand  River,  or  Raskam  River  as  it  is  known 
locally,  at  Chong  Jangal. 


CHAPTER  XII 


BY  THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  TO  HUNZA 
HE  Raskam  River  is  what  is  usually  considered  the 


1 main  branch  of  the  river  which  flows  by  Yarkand, 
but  till  now  the  Oprang  branch  of  this  river  had  not  been 
explored,  and  this  latter  certainly  has  a claim  to  be  con- 
sidered the  main  branch.  The  Raskam  is  the  longer 
branch  of  the  two,  being  about  a hundred  and  eighty 
miles  from  its  source,  which  was  explored  by  Hayward  to 
its  junction  with  the  Oprang  at  Chong  Jangal  ; while  the 
Oprang,  as  now  explored  by  me  from  near  its  source 
throughout  its  course,  is  not  more  than  a hundred  and 
fifty  miles.  But  the  Oprang,  in  the  month  of  October 
at  any  rate,  has  quite  twice  the  volume  of  water — a fact 
which  is  easily  understood  when  it  is  considered  what 
a vast  area  of  glaciers  along  the  main  range  it  drains. 

Between  these  two  branches  of  the  Yarkand  River  lies 
a range  which,  so  far  as  I could  learn,  can  only  be  crossed 
at  the  Aghil  Pass.  It  runs  in  a general  north-west  direc- 
tion, parallel  to  and  intermediate  between  the  Mustagh 
Range  and  the  western  Kuen-lun  Mountains.  It  is  a 
hundred  and  twenty  miles  in  length,  and  is  broken  up 
into  a series  of  bold  upstanding  peaks,  the  highest  of 
which  must  be  close  on  twenty-three  thousand  feet.  Near 
its  junction  with  the  Mustagh  Mountains  there  are  some 
large  glaciers  like  those  which  fill  the  valleys  leading 
down  from  the  main  watershed,  but  towards  its  western 
extremity  these  vast  mers  de  glace  are  not  seen,  and  only 
the  lesser  glaciers  are  met  with  on  the  higher  slopes. 
The  mountain-sides  are  perfectly  bare,  and  only  the 
scantiest  scrub  is  found  in  the  valley  bottoms. 

Akal  Jan,  a Kirghiz  who  belonged  to  the  Tagh-dum- 


234  the  skirts  of  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 

bash  Pamir,  but  whom  I had  met  at  Shahidula,  while  we 
were  exploring  the  passes,  had  gone  to  his  home  on  the 
Pamir  and  collected  camels  and  yaks,  which  he  now  of 
his  own  accord  brought  to  Chong  Jangal.  He  was  also 
the  bearer  of  a letter  from  Lieutenant  Bower,  who,  with 
Major  Cumberland,  had  made  his  way  on  to  the  Tagh- 
dum-bash  Pamir  by  way  of  Shahidula,  Kugiar,  and 
Sarikol.  In  this  letter  was  the  information  that  Captain 
Grombtchevsky,  the  well-known  Russian  traveller,  who 
had  in  the  previous  year  found  his  way  into  Hunza,  was 
now  travelling  towards  Ladak,  and  would  probably  meet 
me  on  the  way.  Being  anxious  to  see  Lieutenant  Bower, 
I despatched  an  urgent  message  to  him  to  try  to  meet 
me  at  Tashkurgan,  and  set  out  from  Chong  Jangal  on 
October  21,  descending  the  Yarkand  River  towards  the 
Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir. 

We  saw  many  signs  of  cultivation,  and  were  told  by 
the  Kirghiz  that  down  to  about  forty  years  ago  this  valley 
was  well  popvdated,  and  that  even  now  Kirghiz  from  the 
Tagh-dum-bash  occasionally  cultivate  some  of  the  ground 
in  the  side  valleys,  where  they  are  well  hidden  in  case  of 
Kanjuti  raids.  Trees,  too,  are  here  met  with,  and  in  the 
Uruk  valley  there  are  still  a few  apricot  trees. 

The  ponies  had  now  become  completely  knocked  up, 
and  although  the  road  here  is  good,  even  the  unladen 
animals  could  not  keep  up  with  the  loaded  camels.  The 
camels  and  yaks  which  Akal  Jan  had  brought  were  suffi- 
cient to  carry  the  whole  of  our  baggage,  so  I discharged 
the  ponies  and  sent  them  back  to  Ladak.  Working  at 
high  altitudes  among  these  mountains,  where  the  road  is 
always  difficult,  and  grass  at  the  camping-grounds  very 
scarce,  it  is  impossible  to  keep  ponies  going  almost 
continuously,  as  I had  been  obliged  to  do,  and  in  future 
explorations  of  a similar  kind,  it  would  be  advisable,  if 
possible,  to  arrange  for  changes  of  transport. 

At  the  camping-ground  near  the  junction  of  the  Ilisu 
with  the  Yarkand  River,  I received  a letter  from  Captain 
Grombtchevsky,  written  in  Turki,  saying  that  he  had 
halted  at  Khaian-aksai  and  was  anxious  to  meet  me.  I 


CAPTAIN  GROMBTCHEVSKY 


^35 


1889] 

answered,  in  Persian  and  English,  that  I was  very  glad 
to  have  the  opportunity  of  meeting  so  distinguished  a 
traveller,  and  would  arrange  to  encamp  with  him  the 
next  day. 

On  October  23  we  marched  to  Khaian-aksai,  leaving 
the  valley  of  the  Yarkand  River  and  ascending  a narrow 
valley  whose  bottom  was  almost  choked  up  with  the  thick 
growth  of  willow  trees.  Rounding  a spur,  we  saw  ahead 
of  us  the  little  Russian  camp,  and  on  riding  up  to  it  a 
fine-looking  man  dressed  in  the  Russian  uniform  came 
out  of  one  of  the  tents  and  introduced  himself  as  Captain 
Grombtchevsky.  He  was  about  thirty-six  years  of  age, 
tall,  and  well  built,  and  with  a pleasant,  genial  manner. 
He  greeted  me  most  cordially,  and  introduced  me  to  a 
travelling  naturalist.  We  had  a short  talk,  and  he  then 
asked  me  to  have  dinner  with  him,  and  we  sat  down  to 
a very  substantial  repast  of  soup  and  stews,  washed  down 
with  a plentiful  supply  of  vodka. 

This  was  the  first  meeting  of  Russian  and  English 
exploring  parties  upon  the  borderlands  of  India,  and  there 
was  much  in  each  of  us  to  interest  the  other.  Captain 
Grombtchevsky  had  already  been  to  Hunza,  having  made 
a venturesome  journey  across  the  Pamirs  into  that  country 
in  1888,  that  is,  the  year  before  we  met.  It  had  on  the 
present  occasion  been  his  intention,  he  informed  me,  to 
penetrate  to  the  Punjab  through  Chitral  or  Kafiristan, 
but  the  Amir  of  Afghanistan  had  refused  him  permission 
to  enter  Afghan  territory  on  his  way  there.  He  had 
accordingly  come  across  the  Pamirs,  and  was  now  hoping 
to  enter  Ladak  and  Kashmir,  for  a permission  to  do  which 
he  was  writing  to  the  British  Resident  in  Kashmir. 

Captain  Grombtchevsky’s  party  consisted  of  seven 
Cossacks,  a munshi  who  accompanied  him  to  Hunza  in 
the  previous  year,  and  one  servant.  He  lived  in  a small, 
light  tent  of  umbrella-like  construction  ; Herr  Conrad, 
the  naturalist,  lived  in  another ; the  Cossacks  lived  in 
a very  flimsy  tent  d’abri,  with  both  ends  open,  which 
must  have  been  an  uncomfortable  arrangement  when  the 
bitter  winds  of  these  high  lands  were  in  full  force  ; and 


236 


THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 


the  servants  lived  in  a fourth  tent.  Such  was  their  little 
camp.  The  Cossacks  appeared  to  do  all  the  work  ; they 
scoured  the  mountain-sides  for  the  ponies  in  the  morning, 
fed  them,  and  saddled  and  loaded  them  for  the  march ; 
they  formed  a guard  during  the  march,  and  at  night 
Captain  Grombtchevsky  always  had  a sentry  over  his 
tent.  For  all  this  work  they  appeared  to  be  indifferently 
equipped.  Their  wretched  apology  for  a tent  has  already 
been  described  ; their  food  seemed  poor  and  insufficient, 
as  they  lived  almost  entirely  on  mutton,  and  ate  even  the 
entrails  of  the  sheep,  and  seldom  had  any  flour,  as  there 
was  only  ninety  pounds  in  camp  for  the  whole  party  for 
three  months.  The  liberality  of  our  Government,  indeed, 
was  very  apparent  on  this  occasion,  for  the  contrast 
between  the  parties  was  remarkable.  The  Gurkhas  had 
two  snug  little  tents,  with  waterproof  sheets,  and  numdahs, 
and  everything  that  could  be  done  to  make  them  comfort- 
able, and,  as  I had  been  given  a liberal  allowance  of 
money  for  the  expenses  of  the  expedition,  my  men  had 
as  much  and  even  more  than  they  wanted  of  mutton, 
flour,  rice,  tea,  and  sugar,  although  we  had  then  been 
travelling  for  seventy-one  days  from  the  last  village  where 
supplies  were  obtainable,  and  all  we  had  with  us  had  had 
to  be  brought  from  Chinese  territory,  where  the  rulers 
might  have  stopped  our  supplies.  But,  although  the 
Cossacks  did  not  strike  me  as  being  well  cared  for,  they 
were  good,  sound,  hardy  fellows,  who  looked  well  able 
to  stand  the  rough  work  they  had  to  do.  They  were 
small  but  thick-set  men,  averaging  about  five  feet  six 
inches  in  height,  fair  in  complexion,  thoroughly  European 
in  appearance,  and  resembling  very  much  our  English 
country  labourers.  They  were  clothed  in  khaki  jackets, 
tight  pantaloons,  and  high  boots  reaching  above  the 
knee  ; over  this  they  wore  a long,  brown  great-coat, 
and  at  night  a heavy  sheepskin  coat  reaching  to  the 
ankles.  The  arms  consisted  of  a rifle  and  a sword.  On 
the  whole,  the  term  “ rough  and  ready”  would  summarise 
the  general  impressions  left  upon  me  by  them. 

Captain  Grombtchevsky  expressed  his  opinions  freely 


THE  RUSSIAN  SOLDIER 


237 


1889] 

on  many  subjects,  and  was  enthusiastic  in  his  description 
of  the  Russian  army.  He  said  that  the  Russian  soldier 
went  wherever  he  was  ordered  to  go ; that  he  looked 
upon  the  general  of  an  army  as  his  father,  who  would 
provide  all  that  was  possible,  and  if  at  the  end  of  a 
hard  day’s  march  he  found  neither  water  to  drink  nor 
food  to  eat,  he  would  still  not  complain,  but  would  go 
on  cheerfully  till  he  died,  and  when  he  died  there  were 
many  more  Russians  to  take  his  place.  Grombtchevsky 
quoted  many  instances  from  the  Central  Asian  campaigns 
to  illustrate  this  statement,  and  it  is  undoubtedly  true 
that  the  Russian  soldier  is  brave,  enduring,  cheerful, 
and  uncomplaining  ; but  it  is  equally  true  that  Russian 
generals  and  their  staffs  have  often  shown  themselves 
incapable  of  organising  large  forces  properly,  and  that 
the  knowledge  that  there  are  always  plenty  of  men  behind 
has  caused  them  to  be  so  negligent  that  many  a Russian 
soldier’s  life  has  been  sacrificed  through  want  of  necessary 
arrangements.  This  may  matter  little  in  wars  close  at 
home  ; but  in  an  expedition  where  each  man  has  to  be 
transported  for  hundreds  of  miles  through  countries  where 
nearly  all  the  food  for  him  has  also  to  be  transported,  a 
general  cannot  afford  to  have  his  men  dropping  off  from 
neglect. 

In  the  afternoon  Captain  Grombtchevsky  asked  for  an 
opportunity  of  inspecting  the  Gurkha  escort,  and  I had 
them  drawn  up  for  the  purpose.  The  Russian  officer 
looked  at  them  and  then  made  a remark  to  me. 
The  Gurkha  non-commissioned  officer,  thinking  that 
Captain  Grombtchevsky  must  necessarily  be  remarking 
on  their  small  size,  whispered  to  me  to  tell  him  that  these 
Gurkhas  I had  with  me  were  unusually  small,  but  that  the 
rest  of  their  regiment  were  much  bigger  than  Captain 
Grombtchevsky  himself.  The  Russian  officer  was  well 
over  six  feet  in  height,  and  the  average  of  a Gurkha  regi- 
ment must  be  a good  six  inches  lower,  for  Gurkhas  are  a 
small,  thick-set  race  ; so  I could  not  commit  myself  to 
quite  so  flagrant  an  “exaggeration,”  but  I told  Captain 
Grombtchevsky  how  the  Gurkha  had  wanted  to  impose 


238 


THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 


upon  him  and  he  was  greatly  amused.  Altogether  he  was 
very  much  taken  with  the  appearance  of  the  Gurkhas,  and 
with  the  precision  and  smartness  of  the  few  drill  exercises 
they  went  through.  He  said  he  had  thought  the  native 
troops  of  India  were  irregulars,  but  he  now  saw  that  they 
were  as  good  as  any  regulars.  I think  the  Gurkhas 
were  equally  impressed  with  the  soldierly  bearing  of  the 
Russian  officer  ; but  I was  surprised  to  see  that  they  did 
not  fraternise  with  the  Cossacks,  as  they  are  noted  for 
doing  with  British  soldiers,  and  I found  the  reason  to  be 
that  they  rather  looked  down  upon  the  Cossacks,  on  account 
of  their  being  less  well  paid  and  equipped  than  themselves. 
This  is  a thoroughly  Oriental  way  of  regarding  things ; 
but  for  my  own  part  I was  much  struck  with  the  many 
excellent  qualities  of  the  Cossacks,  and  no  officer  could 
wish  for  any  better  material  for  soldiers  than  they  afford. 

Finding  Captain  Grombtchevsky’s  company  so  agree- 
able, I halted  a day  with  him,  and  on  October  25  set  out 
again  towards  the  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir.  On  leaving 
camp  I made  the  Gurkha  escort  salute  the  Russian  officer 
by  presenting  arms,  and  Captain  Grombtchevsky  returned 
the  compliment  by  ordering  his  Cossacks  to  “carry 
swords.”  We  then  parted.  Captain  Grombtchevsky  say- 
ing to  me  that  he  hoped  we  might  meet  again,  either  in 
peace  at  St.  Petersburg  or  in  war  on  the  Indian  frontier ; 
in  either  case  I might  be  sure  of  a warm  welcome.  I 
thoroughly  enjoyed  that  meeting  with  a Russian  officer. 
We  and  the  Russians  are  rivals,  but  I am  sure  that  in- 
dividual Russian  and  English  officers  like  each  other  a 
great  deal  better  than  they  do  the  individuals  of  nations 
with  which  they  are  not  in  rivalry.  We  are  both  playing 
at  a big  game,  and  we  should  not  be  one  jot  better  off  for 
trying  to  conceal  the  fact. 

On  the  following  day,  October  26,  we  crossed  the  Kurbu 
Pass  on  to  the  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir.  The  pass  is  an 
easy  one,  fourteen  thousand  seven  hundred  feet  high,  and 
is  quite  practicable  for  laden  animals.  The  change  of 
scenery  now  was  very  striking.  In  place  of  the  deep 
ravines  and  precipitous  mountain-sides  that  we  had 


1889]  A MEETING  WITH  ENGLISHMEN  239 

hitherto  been  accustomed  to  in  the  valleys  of  the  Yarkand 
and  Oprang  Rivers,  we  now  found  great  open,  almost 
level  plains,  some  four  or  five  miles  broad,  running  down 
between  ranges  of  mountains  only  a few  thousand  feet 
higher  than  the  valleys.  Grass,  too,  was  plentiful,  and 
there  was  no  need  for  laboriously  seeking  good  tracks  for 
the  ponies,  as  on  the  Pamir  you  could  go  anywhere.  But 
the  wind  was  bitterly  cold,  and  although  the  temperature 
at  night  did  not  usually  descend  below  zero  (Fahrenheit), 
yet  it  was  very  much  more  trying  than  the  cold  which  we 
had  been  experiencing  lately  on  the  Yarkand  River. 
There,  indeed,  the  thermometer  was  quite  as  low  as  on 
the  Pamir,  but  the  air  was  generally  still,  and  there  was 
no  wind  to  drive  the  cold  right  into  the  marrow  of  one’s 
bones. 

Our  first  encampment  was  at  a place  called  Ilisu,  where 
one  of  the  felt  tents  of  the  Kirghiz  had  been  prepared 
for  me,  and  where  the  headman  of  the  Pamir,  Kuch 
Mohammed  Beg  by  name,  had  arrived  to  meet  me.  He 
was  not  very  prepossessing  in  appearance,  and  had  a bad 
reputation  for  giving  the  Kanjuti  chief  information  to 
enable  him  to  carry  out  his  raids  successfully  ; but  he  was 
friendly  enough  to  me,  and  gave  me  all  the  assistance 
which  I required.  And  this  was  a satisfactory  thing,  for 
he  was  really  under  the  Chinese,  and  might  have  made 
difficulties  here,  as  I had  with  me  no  Chinese  passport, 
and  had  to  trust  to  establishing  friendly  relations  with  the 
inhabitants  to  enable  me  to  get  through  the  country  with- 
out hindrance. 

The  next  day  I left  my  escort,  and  set  out  to  meet 
Major  Cumberland  and  Lieutenant  Bower  at  Tashkurgan, 
some  seventy  miles  distant.  This  place  I reached  on  the 
following  day,  and  found  them  encamped  a few  miles 
lower  down.  The  pleasure  of  meeting  Englishmen  again, 
and  being  able  to  talk  in  my  own  language,  may  well  be 
imagined. 

They  had  set  out  from  Leh  about  two  weeks  before  me, 
and,  accompanied  by  M.  Dauvergne,  had  travelled  by 
Shahidula  to  the  Kilian  Pass,  and  from  there  had  struck 


240  THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 

westward  to  Kugiar,  near  which  place  they  had  met  with 
Colonel  Pievtsof,  the  Russian  traveller,  who  had  succeeded 
the  late  General  Prjevalsky,  in  command  of  the  expedition 
to  Tibet.  They  say  that  this  party  had  from  eighty  to 
one  hundred  camels,  besides  about  twenty  ponies.  The 
guard  consisted  of  twenty-five  Cossacks,  and  they  had  no 
native  servants  whatever,  the  Cossacks  doing  the  whole 
of  the  work.  They  lived  in  felt  tents,  and  were  apparently 
travelling  very  leisurely  and  comfortably.  From  Kugiar, 
Major  Cumberland  had  made  his  way  across  the  Tisnaf 
valley,  which  he  describes  as  being  very  beautiful  and 
abounding  in  fruit,  to  the  Yarkand  River,  and  from  there 
up  the  valley  of  the  Tung  River,  also  a very  fruitful  one, 
to  Tashkurgan.  This  road  had  never  been  traversed  by 
Europeans,  and,  from  Major  Cumberland’s  account,  it 
would  appear  to  be  not  an  easy  one,  by  reason  of  the 
succession  of  passes  over  the  spurs  running  down  from 
the  big  ranges  which  had  to  be  crossed. 

They  had  also  met  Captain  Grombtchevsky,  and  had 
been  as  much  struck  as  I was  with  his  genial  manner, 
though  they  had  warned  him  of  the  difficulties  he  would 
be  likely  to  meet  in  gaining  permission  to  enter  Ladak, 
accompanied  as  he  was  with  an  escort  of  Cossacks. 

The  winter  had  now  fairly  set  in,  and  as  two  passes  on 
the  main  range  had  still  to  be  explored,  it  was  necessary 
for  me  to  return  quickly  to  my  party.  I accordingly  had 
to  leave  Major  Cumberland  again  on  October  30,  and 
retrace  my  steps  down  the  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir. 

The  Sarikolis  seemed  very  friendly  disposed,  and  as  I 
was  passing  through  Tisnaf,  a small  walled  village  a mile 
or  two  north  of  Tashkurgan,  the  headman  met  me  and 
pressed  me  to  come  in  to  breakfast,  a request  which  I was 
very  glad  to  accept.  He  took  me  to  a small  house,  and 
brought  me  bread  and  tea,  which  he  ate  with  me. 

I was  told  that  this  year  many  fugitives  from  Shignan 
had  been  driven  here  by  the  Afghans,  but  most  of  them 
had  been  sent  back  by  the  Chinese,  after  they  had  received 
an  assurance  from  the  governor  of  Shignan  that  no  harm 
should  be  done  to  them. 


THE  PAMIR 


241 


1889] 

Tashkurgan  and  its  neighbourhood  were  visited  by 
Colonel  Gordon,  with  some  members  of  Forsyth’s  Yarkand 
Mission,  in  1874,  on  their  way  to  Wakhan  and  the  Great 
and  Little  Pamirs,  and  there  is  nothing  which  I need  add 
to  the  description  of  it,  which  will  be  found  in  the  report 
of  the  Mission. 

The  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir,  of  which  Tashkurgan  may 
be  said  to  be  the  northernmost  limit,  had  not  been  visited 
by  Colonel  Gordon’s  party,  and  a short  description  of  it 
may  therefore  be  interesting. 

The  Pamir  may  be  said  to  commence,  one  branch  at 
the  Khunjerab  Pass,  and  another  at  the  Wakhujrui  Pass, 
and  to  extend  northwards  to  Tashkurgan,  where  the 
district  of  Sarikol  begins.  It  is  inhabited  chiefly  by 
Kirghiz,  but  there  are  also  a few  Sarikolis.  All  of  these 
keep  large  flocks  and  herds,  but  cultivation  and  houses 
are  not  seen  beyond  Tashkurgan.  The  Pamir  itself  is 
a plain  four  or  five  miles  broad,  rising  very  gently  on 
both  sides  to  the  mountain  ranges  by  which  it  is  enclosed. 
It  gives  one  the  impression  of  formerly  having  been  a 
deep  valley  between  two  mountain  ranges,  which  has  now 
been  filled  up  by  the  debris  brought  down  by  former 
glaciers.  On  account  of  the  insufficient  rainfall,  this 
valley  has  not  been  washed  out  and  cleared  of  the  debris^ 
and  consequently  is  now  a plain  at  a high  elevation.  The 
Pamir  rises  from  ten  thousand  feet  at  Tashkurgan,  to 
fourteen  thousand  three  hundred  feet  at  the  Khunjerab 
Pass.  It  is  mostly  covered  with  coarse  scrub  and  gravel, 
but  there  are  also  some  fine  stretches  of  good  grass.  Fuel 
is  very  scarce,  and  the  inhabitants  generally  use  dung  for 
their  fires. 

The  total  number  of  inhabitants,  including  women  and 
children,  probably  does  not  exceed  three  hundred.  They 
are  a somewhat  rough  lot,  and  mostly  bad  characters, 
who  have  fled,  for  some  reason,  from  Shahidula,  the  Alai, 
or  the  Tagarma  Pamir.  The  headman,  Kuch  Mohammed, 
really  belonged  to  the  Kirghiz  of  Andijan,  but  had  been 
placed  here  by  the  Chinese,  and  was  in  charge  of  the 
frontier  in  this  direction  ; he,  however,  was  also  in  the 


R 


242 


THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 

pay  of  the  chief  of  Hunza,  and  seemed  to  have  a good 
deal  more  respect  for  him  than  for  the  Chinese. 

On  October  30  I rejoined  my  escort  on  the  Karachukur 
stream,  and  the  following  day  set  out  for  the  Khunjerab 
Pass,  which  had  just  been  explored  by  Lieutenant  Bower. 
On  the  way  I passed  an  encampment  belonging  to  a 
Sarikoli,  who  very  kindly  asked  me  to  have  some  refresh- 
ment ; his  son  had  passed  through  India  on  his  way  to 
Mecca,  and  could  speak  a little  Hindustani.  He  was 
delighted  to  find  an  Englishman  to  speak  to,  and  he 
talked  over  all  his  experiences  of  India. 

Heavy  clouds  had  been  collecting  for  the  last  few  days, 
and  during  the  night,  which  I spent  in  a yurt  set  up  for 
me  by  Akal  Jan,  it  snowed  heavily.  Yurts  are  generally 
constructed  with  a large  hole  some  two  and  a half  feet  in 
diameter  in  the  top,  to  allow  the  smoke  from  the  fire 
to  go  out.  On  this  occasion,  when  I woke  in  the  morning, 
I found  the  floor  of  the  yurt  covered  with  snow,  which, 
when  the  fire  had  gone  out,  came  in  from  the  opening. 
It  was  now  falling  heavily  outside,  and  the  whole  country 
was  covered  with  it,  so  the  prospect  for  the  exploration  of 
the  pass  was  not  very  promising. 

However,  I set  out  with  two  good  men,  leaving  the  rest 
of  the  party  behind,  and,  marching  through  the  snow, 
reached  the  summit  of  the  pass  at  midday.  The  route 
was  perfectly  easy,  so  that  we  could  ride  the  whole  way 
to  the  summit.  On  the  other  side,  however,  the  road 
could  be  seen  running  down  a narrow  gorge  ; and  beyond 
this  there  is  a pass  over  a secondary  range,  which  at  this 
time  of  the  year  is  impracticable.  The  mountains  here 
seemed  to  be  of  no  great  height  compared  with  the  moun- 
tains to  be  seen  further  east.  There  is  another  pass  called 
the  Oprang  Pass,  up  a side  valley,  which  leads  down  a 
valley  to  the  Oprang  River  at  Shor-Bulak,  thus  forming 
an  alternative  route  to  that  by  the  Kurbu  Pass  ; this  road, 
however,  is  said  to  be  very  difficult  and  now  out  of  use. 

Ovis  poli  are  said  to  abound  in  this  part,  and  Bower 
had  told  me  that  he  had  shot  six  near  the  Khunjerab 
Pass  ; but  to-day  it  was  snowing  so  heavily  that  nothing 


A PHENOMENON 


243 


1889] 

could  be  seen  of  them,  and  I only  saw  a few  wolves,  which 
prey  upon  these  Ovis  poli^  and  catch  the  old  rams  when 
their  horns  have  become  so  heavy  as  to  retard  their 
progress. 

While  descending  from  the  pass  to  the  small  camp 
which  had  been  brought  to  the  foot  of  it,  the  snow  ceased, 
the  wind  dropped,  the  sun  came  out,  and  the  whole  air 
became  glistening  with  shining  particles.  This  is  a very 
curious  phenomenon.  I had  at  first  thought  that  it  was 
the  sun  shining  on  minute  particles  of  snow,  but  I soon 
found  that  no  snow  at  all  was  falling,  and  I am  quite 
unable  to  account  for  these  glistening  particles.  The 
Kirghiz  informed  me  that  it  usually  occurred  after  a fall 
of  snow,  and  was  a presage  of  great  cold  thereafter.  The 
thermometer  indeed  went  rapidly  down,  and  at  six  o’clock 
in  the  evening  was  five  degrees  below  zero  (Fahrenheit) ; 
but  then  a wind  sprang  up,  which  immediately  brought 
the  thermometer  up  to  zero,  and  during  the  night  it  never 
fell  below  that,  though  the  thermometer  of  one’s  senses 
would  have  registered  it  very  much  below  zero. 

There  was  now  only  one  more  pass  to  explore,  and 
I hastened  back  to  get  round  the  Mintaka  Pass,  for  I was 
beginning  to  fear  that  I might  perhaps  be  prevented  by 
the  snow  from  getting  across  the  range  into  Hunza. 
Marching  down  to  Akal  Jan’s  camp,  I had  the  good  for- 
tune to  see  a herd  of  Ovis  poli  in  the  distance  ; I managed 
to  get  fairly  close  to  them,  but  not  near  enough  for  a shot, 
and  by  the  time  I had  reached  a rock  from  behind  which 
I had  hoped  to  bag  one,  I found  they  had  disappeared 
right  up  the  mountain-side,  and  were  only  just  dis- 
tinguishable through  a telescope,  looking  down  disdain- 
fully at  me  from  the  top  of  the  highest  crag.  This  stalk 
after  the  showed  me  how  much  my  strength  had 

been  reduced  lately,  from  being  so  long  at  great  eleva- 
tions ; and,  moreover,  owing  to  my  having  had  no  proper 
cook,  my  appetite  had  also  gradually  fallen  awa,y,  and 
I had  become  too  weak  for  any  great  exertions.  But, 
fortunately,  the  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir  is  so  easy  that  one 
can  ride  everywhere. 


244  the  skirts  of  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 

On  November  4 I rejoined  the  Gurkha  escort  at  Kara- 
chukur,  where  they  had  remained  while  I was  exploring 
the  Khunjerab  Pass.  They  had  now  been  halted  for  ten 
days,  and  were  glad  enough  to  get  on  the  move  again. 

On  the  following  day  we  marched  up  the  Karachukur 
to  Mintaka  Aksai,  where  the  stream  from  the  Mintaka 
Pass  joins  the  Karachukur,  which  flows  from  the  Wak- 
hujrui  Pass,  leading  over  to  Wakhan.  A road  also  leads 
from  the  valley  of  the  Karachukur  by  the  Baiyik  Pass  to 
Aktash,  on  the  Little  Pamir.  This  is  practicable  for 
ponies,  and  was  crossed  by  Captain  Grombtchevsky. 

On  this  march  Kuch  Mahommed  asked  me  in  to  break- 
fast at  his  camp,  which  is  situated  close  to  the  road  ; and 
I there  found  two  Kashgaris  who  were  officials  sent  by 
the  Chinese  Taotai  of  Kashgar  to  inquire  into  affairs  on 
this  frontier. 

After  breakfasting,  I again  set  out,  but  was  passed  on  the 
road  by  these  two  Kashgaris,  who  arrived  at  the  Mintaka 
Aksai  camp  shortly  before  me.  They  here  found  a tent 
set  apart  for  some  one,  and,  on  asking  Kuch  Mohammed 
whom  it  was  for,  were  told  that  it  had  been  prepared  for 
me.  On  hearing  this  they  were  furious,  and  demanded 
why  a tent  had  not  been  prepared  for  them  also.  Kuch 
Mohammed  tried  to  smooth  them  down,  but  he  did  not 
offer  them  the  tent,  and  I was  glad  on  my  arrival  to  find 
it  still  kept  for  me,  though,  when  I heard  the  circum- 
stances, I was  surprised  at  his  having  done  so,  as  I was 
really  on  Chinese  territory,  and  these  were  Chinese 
officials,  while  I was  simply  an  English  traveller.  The 
Kashgaris  were  only  given  a place  with  the  Kirghiz  in 
one  of  their  tents,  and  soon  after  my  arrival,  I heard  that 
they  had  summoned  a levee  of  all  the  Kirghiz  in  the 
place,  and  had  warned  them  to  be  careful  what  they  were 
doing.  They  also  got  hold  of  my  interpreter,  and  began 
questioning  him  about  my  doings,  and  asked  for  my 
passport.  On  hearing  this,  I sent  them  a message 
requesting  them  not  to  interfere  with  my  servants,  and 
saying  that  if  they  wanted  any  information  about  my 
doings,  I should  be  perfectly  ready  to  give  it  them,  and 


1889]  REWARDING  THE  KIRGHIZ  245 

that  when  I had  leisure  I would  send  for  them,  and  they 
might  ask  me  any  questions  they  wished. 

Next  morning  I sent  to  them  to  say  that  I was  at 
leisure,  and  would  give  them  all  the  information  they 
wished.  They  came  over  to  my  tent,  and,  after  giving 
them  tea  and  treating  them  politely,  I told  them  that  I 
was  now  returning  to  India  by  Hunza,  and  was  merely 
crossing  the  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir  on  my  way  there. 
I told  them  that  China  and  England  were  friendly  with 
each  other,  and  that,  though  I had  not  now  a passport, 
as  I had  not  been  aware  that  I should  have  to  cross  a 
portion  of  Chinese  territory,  I had  travelled,  two  years 
ago,  from  Peking,  the  capital  of  China,  with  a passport 
from  the  Emperor,  right  through  to  Yarkand  and  Kash- 
gar. The  Kashgari  officials,  on  hearing  this,  said  they 
were  perfectly  satisfied  ; that  the  Chinese  and  English 
were  always  friends  ; but  that  they  should  like  me  to  put 
down  what  I had  said  in  writing,  that  they  might  show  it 
to  the  Taotai  at  Kashgar. 

This  I readily  consented  to  do,  and,  after  more  tea- 
drinking and  polite  speeches,  Ave  parted  in  a very  friendly 
manner,  and  soon  after  the  Kirghiz  came  in  to  say  that 
the  Kashgari  officials  had  given  orders  that  I was  to  be 
given  every  assistance. 

This  would  be  my  last  day  amongst  the  Kirghiz,  and 
it  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  pay  them  up,  and  give 
them  presents  for  the  service  they  rendered  me.  I ac- 
cordingly paid  them  very  liberally  for  the  hire  of  camels, 
yaks,  etc.,  and  also  gave  each  of  the  three  headmen  some 
presents.  They,  however,  had  heard  exaggerated  reports 
of  the  presents  which  I had  given  to  the  Shahidula 
Kirghiz,  and  expected  to  receive  more  than  I had  given 
them,  and  one  of  them,  Juma  Bai,  was  impertinent 
enough  afterwards  to  send  back  my  present,  saying  it  was 
insufficient.  I immediately  sent  my  interpreter  with  a 
sheep,  which  Juma  Bai  had  given  me  on  the  previous 
day,  and  with  my  presents  which  he  had  returned,  back 
to  the  Kirghiz,  and  told  him  to  throw  away,  before  his 
eyes,  the  tea  and  cloth,  etc.,  which  I had  given  him,  to 


246  THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 

turn  the  sheep  loose  in  the  valley,  and  to  express  my 
extreme  displeasure  at  being  insulted  in  the  way  I had 
been. 

Juma  Bai  happened  to  be  living  with  the  two  Kash- 
garis,  and  when  they  saw  all  this  occur,  the  Kashgaris 
turned  on  him  and  abused  him  roundly  for  insulting  a 
guest  like  this,  and  the  rest  of  the  Kirghiz,  taking  the 
cue  from  them,  set  upon  the  unfortunate  Juma  and  beat 
him. 

The  other  two  Kirghiz  headmen  then  came  and  apolo- 
gised profusely  to  me,  hoping  that  I was  not  displeased 
with  them  also,  and  the  next  morning,  when  we  parted, 
they  were  very  friendly  and  full  of  expressions  of  good- 
will. 

On  November  8 we  crossed  the  Mintaka  Pass  ; the 
ascent  for  about  a thousand  feet  is  very  steep,  and  near 
the  top  there  was  a considerable  amount  of  recently  fallen 
snow.  Snow,  indeed,  was  even  now  falling  on  the  moun- 
tains all  round  continuously,  but  during  our  passage  it 
remained  clear,  and  though  the  snow  was  soft  and  we 
sank  into  it  up  to  our  knees,  yet  the  yaks  carried  the 
baggage  over  without  much  real  difficulty.  The  height 
is  fourteen  thousand  four  hundred  feet,  though  the  moun- 
tains near  it  must  rise  to  fully  twenty-two  thousand  feet. 
The  descent  is  also  steep,  leading  down  a rocky  zigzag 
on  to  the  moraine  of  a glacier  ; but,  after  passing  over 
this  for  about  a mile  and  a half,  all  difficulties  are  over, 
and  the  route  descends  a stream  to  Murkush.  Here  we 
met  Hunza  (Kanjuti)  officials,  sent  by  the  chief  to  await 
our  arrival,  with  twenty  coolies  to  carry  my  baggage,  and 
I was  therefore  able  to  despatch  the  Kirghiz  with  the 
yaks  which  had  brought  our  baggage  over  the  pass.  The 
Kirghiz  are  not  a race  with  many  good  qualities ; they 
are  avaricious,  grasping,  and  fickle,  and  I parted  with 
them  without  regret,  or  any  special  desire  to  renew  my 
acquaintance  with  them. 

We  were  now  safely  on  the  southern  side  of  the  Indus 
watershed  once  more,  and  our  explorations  were  over,  for 
Colonel  Lockhart’s  Mission,  in  1886,  had  passed  up  the 


iSSg]  THROUGH  THE  HUNZA  VALLEY  247 

Hunza  valley  on  their  way  to  the  Kilik  Pass.  But  this 
valley  we  were  now  entering  was  full  of  interest,  both  as 
the  abode  of  a primitive,  little-known  people,  and  from 
the  grandeur  of  its  scenery.  As  we  marched  down  from 
Murkush,  which  was  merely  a camping-ground,  to  Mis- 
gah,  the  first  village,  we  passed  through  gorges  with 
rocky  precipices  of  stupendous  height  on  either  side. 
The  mountains  seemed  almost  to  rise  sheer  from  the  bed 
of  the  river  for  thousands  of  feet,  till  they  culminated  in 
snowy  peaks,  to  view  whose  summit  we  had  to  throw 
our  heads  right  back  in  looking  upwards. 

As  we  descended  the  valley  the  air  became  warmer  and 
warmer,  the  marrow-freezing  blasts  of  wind  were  left 
behind,  and  the  atmosphere  became  less  and  less  rarefied 
as  we  left  the  high  altitudes  of  the  Pamirs  and  came  down 
again  to  parts  where  cereals  could  be  cultivated.  As  we 
breathed  the  fuller  air,  with  more  life-giving  properties  in 
it,  fresh  strength  seemed  to  come  into  us,  and  the  feeling 
of  languor  which  the  cold  and  the  rarefaction  of  the  air 
together  had  produced,  slowly  disappeared. 

Near  Misgah  we  were  met  by  the  Arhap,  or  governor, 
of  the  upper  district  of  Hunza,  who  professed  himself  very 
friendly,  and  evidently  intended  to  be  so  ; but  on  the  next 
morning,  when  it  came  to  producing  men  to  carry  our 
loads,  as  the  chief  had  said  he  would  arrange  to  do, 
difficulties  immediately  arose.  The  independent  Hunza 
men  did  not  at  all  like  having  to  carry  the  loads,  and 
I could  quite  sympathise  with  them.  Having  to  carry 
sixty  or  seventy  pounds  for  a dozen  miles  over  any  sort  of 
country  must  be  unpleasant  enough,  but  to  have  to  do  it 
over  Hunza  mountain-tracks  affords  a very  intelligible 
cause  of  complaint,  and  I can  well  understand  how  galling 
these  wild  people  of  the  Hindu  Kush  must  find  our  calls 
upon  them  to  act  as  beasts  of  burden.  However,  the  call 
had  to  be  made,  whether  I or  they  liked  it  or  not,  and 
after  a delay  of  half  a day  the  necessary  number  of  men 
were  produced. 

Then  arose  another  difficulty.  The  arbap,  on  the  pre- 
vious evening,  had  sent  me  over  a present  of  a sheep  and 


248 


THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 


some  eggs,  and  now  he  asked  payment  for  them,  saying 
he  could  not  afford  to  give  presents  for  nothing.  I told 
him  that  our  customs  were  different  from  his,  and  that  I 
was  going  to  follow  out  our  own  custom,  which  was  to 
accept  a present  as  a present,  and  not  to  pay  for  it.  These 
men  of  Hunza  were  a curiously  uncouth  people  in  those 
days  of  their  first  contact  with  Europeans.  They  thought 
they  had  a perfect  right  to  fleece  any  stranger  who  entered 
their  country,  and  I had  heard  from  Captain  Gombtchev- 
sky  of  the  demands  they  had  made  upon  him,  and  from 
the  Kirghiz  of  how  they  practically  robbed  the  Chinese 
officials  who  occasionally  visited  the  country,  and  I deter- 
mined from  the  start  to  make  a stand  against  their 
extortions. 

By  midday  coolies  and  a few  ponies  were  collected,  and 
a start  was  made  for  Gircha.  The  track  was  rough  and 
difficult,  and  in  one  or  two  places  led  along  the  sides  of 
cliffs  into  which  planks  had  been  fastened,  and  a rude 
gallery  constructed  in  this  way.  The  valley  was  very 
narrow,  and  the  mountains  bare,  rugged,  and  precipitous. 
At  Gircha  was  a small  fort,  near  which  we  bivouacked 
round  a fire,  waiting  for  the  baggage,  which  did  not 
appear  till  six  o’clock  the  next  morning,  as  the  men  had 
been  benighted  on  the  road,  and  dare  not,  laden  as  they 
were,  pass  along  the  cliffs  in  the  dark. 

Here  at  Gircha  we  halted  for  a day,  and  were  visited  by 
Wazir  Dadu,  the  “prime  minister”  of  the  country,  and 
Mohammed  Nazim  Khan,  the  present  ruler  of  Hunza,  and 
a half-brother  of  Safder  Ali,  the  then  ruler.  Wazir  Dadu 
was  an  interesting  character,  as  he  was  afterwards  the 
leader  of  the  opposition  to  the  British  in  the  Hunza  cam- 
paign, which  took  place  two  years  after  my  visit.  He  was 
a handsome  man,  with  good  features  and  a very  fine 
beard.  He  struck  me  as  being  a clever,  shrewd  man, 
with  plenty  of  common  sense  about  him  ; and  had  con- 
siderable influence  with  the  chief.  He  was  a keen  sports- 
man and  a good  shot.  Next  to  his  half-brother  Humayun, 
the  Wazir  of  the  present  ruler  of  Hunza,  he  was  the  most 
capable  man  I have  met  upon  the  frontier,  and  one  for 


SAFDER  ALI 


249 


1889] 

whom  I entertained  a considerable  respect  on  account  of 
his  manly  qualities ; and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  ignor- 
ance led  him  into  committing  his  master  to  a course  of 
policy  which  ended  in  the  overthrow  of  both.  Wazir  Dadu 
eventually  died  in  imprisonment  in  Chinese  Turkestan. 

Now,  however,  on  his  visit  to  me,  he  appeared  in 
gorgeous  robes,  which  had  been  presented  to  Ghazan 
Khan,  the  chief  of  Hunza,  at  the  time  of  Colonel  Lock- 
hart’s visit,  in  1886.  He  brought  very  friendly  messages 
from  Safder  Ali,  and  said  he  had  been  sent  to  accompany 
my  party  down  to  Gulmit,  where  the  chief  was  at  present 
residing.  This  place  I reached  two  days  later.  We 
passed  a few  small,  dirty  villages  on  the  way,  and  the 
valley  opened  out  only  very  slightly,  stupendous  moun- 
tains rising  as  before  on  either  hand. 

Hearing  that  Safder  Ali  wished  to  receive  me  in  state 
on  my  arrival  at  Gulmit,  I put  on  my  full-dress  dragoon 
uniform,  and  the  Gurkha  escort  also  wore  their  full  dress. 
We  had  to  cross  a nasty  glacier  at  Pasu,  and  I did  not 
find  spurs  and  gold-laced  overalls  very  appropriate 
costume  for  that  kind  of  work.  Then,  as  we  neared 
Gulmit,  a deputation  was  sent  by  the  chief  to  say  that  I 
must  not  be  frightened  when  I heard  guns  being  fired,  as 
they  were  intended  for  a salute,  and  not  offensively. 

Amid  the  booming  of  these  guns  I rode  up  through  the 
village  lands  towards  a large  tent,  in  which  the  chief  was 
to  receive  me.  Thirteen  guns  were  fired  as  a salute,  and 
when  they  ceased  a deafening  tomtoming  was  set  up. 
Hundreds  of  people  were  collected  on  the  hillside,  and  in 
front  of  the  tent  were  ranged  two  long  rows  of  these  wild- 
looking Hunza  men  armed  with  matchlocks  and  swords. 
There  was  no  fierce  look  about  them,  but  they  had  a 
hardy  appearance  which  was  very  striking.  At  the  end 
of  this  double  row  of  men  I dismounted  from  my  pony, 
and  advanced  between  the  lines  to  meet  the  chief,  who 
came  outside  the  tent  to  receive  me.  I was  astonished  to 
find  myself  in  the  presence  of  a man  with  a complexion  of 
almost  European  fairness,  and  with  reddish  hair.  His 
features,  too,  were  of  an  entirely  European  cast,  and. 


250  THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xft 

dressed  in  European  clothes,  he  might  anywhere  have 
been  taken  for  a Greek  or  an  Italian.  He  was  now  dressed 
in  a magnificent  brocade  robe  and  a handsome  turban, 
presented  by  Colonel  Lockhart.  He  had  a sword  and 
a revolver  fastened  round  his  waist,  and  one  man  with  a 
drawn  sword  and  another  with  a repeating  rifle  stood 
behind  him. 

He  asked  after  my  health,  and  as  to  how  I had  fared 
during  my  journey  through  his  country,  and  then  led  me 
into  the  tent,  which  was  a big  one  presented  to  him  by 
Captain  Durand.  At  the  head  of  the  tent  was  a chair 
covered  with  fine  gold-embroidered  velvet  cloth.  This 
was  the  only  chair  the  chief  possessed,  or  rather  had  in 
Gulmit,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  intended  to  sit  in  it 
himself,  and  let  me  kneel  upon  the  ground  with  the  head- 
men of  the  country.  I had,  however,  foreseen  such  an 
eventuality,  and  had  brought  a chair  with  me  on  the 
march,  ahead  of  the  baggage.  So  I now  sidled  in  between 
Safder  Ali  and  his  chair,  and  whispered  to  my  orderly 
to  get  mine,  which,  when  produced,  I placed  alongside 
his,  and  we  then  sat  down  together.  We  then  carried  on 
a short  complimentary  conversation,  in  which  I thanked 
him  for  the  arrangements  he  had  made  for  my  reception, 
and  the  cordiality  of  the  welcome  he  had  offered  me.  In 
the  tent  all  the  principal  men  of  the  country  were  kneeling 
in  silent  rows,  with  solemn  upturned  faces,  hanging  upon 
each  word  that  was  uttered  as  if  there  were  the  profoundest 
wisdom  in  it,  but  never  moving  a single  muscle  of  their 
features.  The  conversation  was  carried  on  through  two 
interpreters,  and  the  compliments  dragged  themselves  out 
by  slow  degrees.  At  the  close  of  the  interview  I again 
thanked  the  chief,  and  as  I left  the  tent  the  Gurkha  escort, 
by  previous  arrangement,  fired  three  volleys  in  the  air,  a 
form  of  salute  which  is  ordinarily  only  given  at  funerals, 
but  which  served  the  purpose  of  making  a noise  and  con- 
sequently of  pleasing  these  people. 

As  there  is  nothing  but  small  dirty  houses  at  Gulmit, 
I lived  in  a tent  there,  and  on  the  day  following  my 
arrival  paid  another  visit  to  the  chief.  The  first  question 


A VERY  GREAT  KING 


251 


1889] 

he  asked  me  was,  why  I had  entered  his  country  from  the 
north,  when  no  other  European  had  ever  done  so.  I told 
him  that  I could  not  claim  the  honour  of  being  the  first 
European  to  enter  his  country  across  the  passes  on  the 
north,  for  it  so  happened  that  I had  just  met  a Russian 
officer  who  had  himself  informed  me  that  he  had  crossed 
into  Hunza  from  the  north.  I then  explained  to  him  that 
I had  been  sent  by  the  Government  of  India  to  inquire 
into  the  cause  of  the  raids  on  the  Yarkand  trade  route, 
and  was  now  returning  to  India  through  his  country. 

On  the  following  morning,  during  a long  visit  Safder 
Ali  paid  me  in  my  tent,  I entered  upon  this  question 
rather  more  fully.  I reminded  him  that  the  raids  were 
committed  by  his  subjects  upon  the  subjects  of  the  British 
Government,  and  if  he  wished  to  retain  the  friendship  of 
the  British  Government,  as  he  professed  to  do,  he  should 
restrain  his  subjects  from  carrying  on  such  practices. 
Safder  Ali  replied,  in  the  most  unabashed  manner,  that  he 
considered  he  had  a perfect  right  to  make  raids  ; that  the 
profits  he  obtained  from  them  formed  his  principal  revenue, 
and  that  if  the  Government  of  India  wished  them  stopped, 
they  must  make  up  by  a subsidy  for  the  loss  of  revenue. 
There  was  no  diplomatic  mincing  of  matters  with  Safder 
Ali,  and  this  outspokenness  did  not  come  from  any  innate 
strength  of  character,  but  simply  because  he  was  entirely 
ignorant  of  his  real  position  in  the  universe.  He  was 
under  the  impression  that  the  Empress  of  India,  the  Czar 
of  Russia,  and  the  Emperor  of  China  were  chiefs  of  neigh- 
bouring tribes ; but  he  had  been  accustomed  to  levy 
blackmail  upon  all  the  peoples  round  him,  and  he  looked 
upon  the  various  British  officers  who  had  visited  his 
country.  Captain  Grombtchevsky,  and  the  Chinese  official 
who  occasionally  came  to  Hunza,  as  envoys  from  England, 
Russia,  and  China,  clamouring  for  his  friendship.  He 
and  Alexander  the  Great  were  on  a par.  When  I asked 
him  if  he  had  ever  been  to  India,  he  said  that  “great 
kings”  like  himself  and  Alexander  never  left  their  own 
country  ! 

The  difficulty  was,  therefore,  to  know  how  to  deal  with 


252  THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xn 

such  a man  as  this.  I told  him  that  I could  not  think 
of  recommending  that  he  should  be  subsidised  to  stop 
raids ; that  I had  left  some  soldiers  armed  with  rifles  on 
the  trade  route,  and  I would  recommend  him  to  try  another 
raid  and  see  how  much  revenue  he  obtained  from  it.  The 
discussion,  in  fact,  became  somewhat  heated  at  one  time ; 
but  the  effect  was  none  the  worse  for  that,  for  these 
untutored  people  like  to  speak  out  their  minds  freely,  and 
it  is  a good  plan  to  allow  them  to  do  so.  Safder  Ali  told 
me  afterwards  that  he  was  astonished  at  my  having 
refused  the  request  he  had  made  ; for  he  said  that  all  the 
men  he  had  to  deal  with  would,  at  any  rate  at  the  time, 
promise  to  do  a thing  asked  of  them,  but  they  never  said 
straight  out  to  his  face  that  they  would  not  do  what  was 
asked  of  them. 

Thinking  it  necessary  to  impress  him  in  any  small  way 
I could  with  our  strength,  I now  suggested  to  him  that  he 
should  see  the  Gurkhas  perform  some  drill  exercise  and 
fire  at  a mark.  I accordingly  had  the  men  drawn  up 
in  line  facing  towards  the  inside  of  the  tent  where  Safder 
Ali  and  I were  seated.  They  then  went  through  the 
movements  of  the  firing  exercise.  One  of  these  exercises 
consisted  in  bringing  the  rifles  up  to  the  “present,”  and 
as  the  Gurkhas  were  facing  the  interior  of  the  tent,  the 
muzzles  of  the  rifles  were  directed  straight  on  Safder  Ali 
and  myself.  This  was  too  much  for  the  successor  of 
Alexander  ; he  said  he  would  see  no  more  drill  exercises, 
and  he  could  only  be  induced  to  permit  firing  at  the  mark 
to  proceed  when  he  surrounded  himself  with  one  ring 
of  men  and  placed  another  cordon  round  the  Gurkhas  who 
were  firing.  A guilty  conscience  was  pricking  him,  for 
he  had  murdered  his  own  father  and  thrown  two  of  his 
brothers  over  a precipice,  and  he  now  feared  that  similar 
treachery  might  be  played  upon  him,  and  that  the  Gurk- 
has might  despatch  him  with  a bullet.  Under  these 
excessive  precautions  the  practice  proceeded,  and  volleys 
were  fired  at  objects  far  across  the  valley,  the  people  being 
duly  impressed  both  by  the  excellence  of  the  shooting  and 
by  the  sturdy  character  of  the  Gurkhas. 


MOHAMMED  NAZIM 


253 


i88g] 

I had  several  interviews  with  Safder  Ali,  but  on  one 
occasion  he  was  so  rude  that  I had  afterwards  to  tell 
the  Wazir  that  I could  neither  receive  visits  from  him  nor 
pay  visits  to  him  while  he  spoke  as  he  did.  He  caused 
me  incessant  annoyance,  too,  by  sending  down  messen- 
gers to  ask  for  various  things  in  my  possession.  I had 
given  him  a handsome  present,  but  he  would  send  and 
ask  me  for  my  tent,  my  mule-trunks,  and  even  some  soap 
for  his  wives.  Among  my  presents  to  the  Wazir  had 
been  a few  tablets  of  soap  wrapped  up  in  “ silver  ” paper  ; 
these  had  excited  the  admiration  of  the  ladies  of  the 
“king’s”  household,  and  they  wanted  some  for  them- 
selves. All  these  requests  I refused  on  principle,  for 
if  one  thing  had  been  given,  more  would  be  demanded, 
and  every  article  of  my  kit  would  be  taken  from  me. 
Of  this  Captain  Grombtchevsky  had  good-naturedly  in- 
formed me,  and  he  had  warned  me  to  be  firm  from  the 
first. 

Balti  coolies,  to  carry  my  baggage  down  to  Gilgit, 
having  arrived,  I left  Gulmit  on  November  23.  On  the 
morning  of  my  departure,  Safder  Ali  came  down  on  foot 
to  my  tent  and  apologised  for  any  annoyance  he  had  given 
me,  saying  his  only  intention  was  to  give  me  a suitable 
reception,  and  he  wished  a subsidy  from  Government ! 
Safder  Ali  struck  me  as  being  a weak  character,  and  the 
opinion  I recorded  of  him  at  the  time  was  that  he  was  too 
childishly  obstinate  and  too  deficient  in  shrewdness  and 
far-sightedness  to  appreciate  the  advantages  of  keeping 
on  good  terms  with  the  British.  I am  the  last  European 
who  has  seen  him  ; two  years  later  he  was  forced  to  flee 
from  his  country,  and  he  is  now  an  exile  in  Chinese 
territory,  while  his  half-brother,  Mohammed  Nazim,  rules 
Hunza  in  his  place. 

This  same  Mohammed  Nazim  was  now  deputed  by  Saf- 
der Ali  to  accompany  me  as  far  as  Gilgit.  On  the  day 
after  leaving  Gulmit  we  reached  Baltit,  the  chief  place  in 
Hunza,  where  the  chief’s  palace  and  fort  are  situated. 
The  opinion  which  I formed,  during  my  two  weeks’ 
journey  through^  the  country,  and  recorded  at  the  time. 


254 


THE  SKIRTS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  [chap,  xii 

that  “once  the  chief  had  been  brought  under  control, 
there  would  be  little  difficulty  with  the  people,  who  are  of 
a far  less  warlike  character  than  the  Afghans,  and  would 
probably  gladly  welcome  a more  settled  state  of  affairs,  in 
which  they  would  not  be  continually  liable  to  be  employed 
in  petty  wars  got  up  between  rival  chieftains,”  has  been 
fully  borne  out  by  events.  When,  two  years  afterwards, 
Safder  Ali  was  forced  to  flee  from  the  country,  the  people 
showed  no  regret ; and  now,  under  Mohammed  Nazim,  a 
prince  who  understands  that  the  time  for  truculency  is 
past,  it  is  acknowledged  by  every  one  who  visits  the 
country  that  these  quondam  raiders  are  become  a settled 
and  contented  people. 

Pushing  on  ahead  of  my  escort,  I passed  through  Nilt, 
to  which  the  next  visitors  were  the  gallant  little  force 
under  Colonel  Durand,  who,  at  the  end  of  1891,  con- 
quered Hunza  and  Nagar.  Two  days  from  Baltit — after 
passing  over  sixty-five  miles  of  most  execrable  roads,  by 
paths  climbing  high  up  the  mountain-sides  to  round  cliffs 
or  pass  over  rocks  and  boulders,  and  by  galleries  along 
the  face  of  a precipice — I reached  Gilgit,  and  was  wel- 
comed by  Captain  Durand  and  Lieutenant  Manners- 
Smith,  who  had  a few  weeks  before  arrived  to  establish  a 
British  Political  Agency  there.  To  be  once  more  free 
from  anxiety,  to  be  among  my  brother  officers,  to  sit  down 
to  a meal  prepared  by  some  other  than  that  most  faithful 
of  servants  but  worst  of  all  cooks,  Shukar  Ali,  the  Ladaki, 
and  to  feel  that  the  task  which  had  been  set  me  had  been 
successfully  accomplished,  was  satisfaction  indeed,  and 
that  night  of  my  arrival  in  the  Gilgit  Agency  was  another 
of  those  times  the  recollection  of  which  is  impressed 
indelibly  upon  my  memory. 

After  staying  a few  days  at  Gilgit,  we  set  out  again  for 
Kashmir.  The  season  was  now  late,  and  the  Burzil  Pass, 
thirteen  thousand  four  hundred  feet,  and  the  Tragbal 
Pass,  eleven  thousand  two  hundred  feet,  had  to  be  crossed. 
On  December  13  we  crossed  the  former,  and  three  days 
later  we  descended  from  the  Tragbal  into  the  valley  of 
Kashmir  once  more.  The  round  had  been  completed  ; 


1889]  men  of  the  native  army  255 

we  had  crossed  seventeen  passes,  and  attempted  two  more, 
and  had  travelled  through  as  rough  a country  as  any  in 
the  world.  I now  parted  with  my  Gurkha  escort,  and  they 
told  me  for  the  first  time  that,  before  leaving  the  regiment, 
their  head  native  officer  had  told  them  that  if  anything 
happened  to  me  on  the  journey  we  were  to  undertake, 
not  a single  one  of  them  was  to  return  to  disgrace 
the  name  of  the  regiment  to  which  he  belonged.  They 
must  not  come  back  without  their  officer.  The  Gurkha 
havildar,  as  he  told  me  this,  said  they  had  all  been  ready 
to  make  any  sacrifice  for  the  success  of  the  expedition  ; 
but  they  had  had  no  hardship  whatever,  and  he  thanked 
me  for  all  the  care  I had  taken  of  them  during  the  journey. 
These  Gurkhas  were  splendid  little  men ; I felt  all  through 
that  I could  have  trusted  them  in  anything,  and  it  was 
hard  to  part  with  men  who  had  been  ready  to  lay  down 
their  lives  for  me  at  any  moment,  who  were  my  only 
companions  for  many  months  together,  and  for  whom  I 
had  come  to  feel  so  strong  a personal  attachment. 

They  returned  to  their  regiment ; the  havildar  and  the 
naik  were  promoted,  and  they  all  received  substantial 
money  rewards  and  a certificate  of  commendation  from 
the  Government  of  India. 

The  Pathan  orderly  also  returned  to  his  regiment,  where 
he  was  promoted,  and  received  a money  reward  and  a 
similar  certificate,  which  was  presented  to  him,  at  a parade 
of  the  whole  regiment,  by  his  commanding  officer. 

This  was  the  first  occasion  on  which  I had  had  under 
me  men  of  the  native  army  of  India,  and  my  respect  for 
their  endurance,  their  devotion  and  loyalty,  and  their 
discipline,  was  founded  then,  and  has  only  increased  as 
I have  had  the  opportunity  of  knowing  them  better. 
Gurkhas,  Pathans,  or  Sikhs,  they  are  all  ready  to  stand 
by  a British  officer  to  the  last,  and  they  are  men  of  whom 
any  leader  might  be  proud. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


TO  THE  PAMIRS— 1890 


HESE  explorations,  in  1889,  had  extended  on  to  the 


1 edge  of  the  Pamirs,  and  in  the  following  year  I was 
commissioned  to  travel  round  the  whole  of  the  Pamir 
region.  At  that  time,  though  Russian  parties  had  fre- 
quently toured  through  them,  only  one  Englishman,  Mr. 
Ney  Elias,  had  travelled  across  the  Pamirs  since  the 
time  of  Forsyth’s  Mission,  when  Colonel  T.  E.  Gordon 
led  an  expedition  through  the  Little  and  back  by  the 
Great  Pamir.  This  was  in  the  time  of  Yakoob  Beg, 
before  the  Chinese  had  re-established  themselves  in 
Eastern  Turkestan,  and  since  then  the  state  of  affairs 
had  very  materially  altered.  The  Pamirs  formed  a sort 
of  no-man’s-land  between  the  British  dependencies  on 
the  south,  the  Russian  on  the  north,  the  Chinese  on  the 
east,  and  the  Afghan  on  the  west.  The  waves  of  con- 
quest which  surged  all  round  had  not  yet  thoroughly 
immersed  them,  and  the  state  of  this  meeting-place  of 
the  three  great  empires  of  Asia  was,  therefore,  of  interest 
and  importance. 

At  the  end  of  June,  1890,  I left  Simla  for  this  remote 
region.  No  escort  accompanied  me,  as  on  my  former 
journey,  but  I was  fortunate  enough  to  have  as  a com- 
panion Mr.  George  Macartney,  a son  of  Sir  Halliday 
Macartney,  the  well-known  Secretary  of  the  Chinese  Lega- 
tion in  London.  Mr.  Macartney  spoke  Chinese  fluently 
and  accurately,  and  his  services  as  an  interpreter  would 
therefore  be  of  the  greatest  value.  Together  we  proceeded 
to  Leh,  and  joined  there  two  other  travellers,  Messrs. 
Beech  and  Lennard,  who  were,  for  sporting  purposes, 
also  proceeding  to  the  Pamirs  and  Chinese  Turkestan. 


iSgo]  AS  IT  WAS  IN  THE  BEGINNING 


257 


I again  had  to  make  those  long,  dreary  marches  across 
the  Karakoram  Mountains  which  I have  already  described. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  more  utterly 
desolate  and  depressing  than  these  bare  plains  and 
rounded  hills,  and  it  was  accordingly  with  an  immense 
feeling  of  relief  that  we  descended  into  the  plains  of 
Turkestan  at  the  end  of  our  six  hundred  miles’  march 
through  the  mountains  from  the  plains  of  India.  On 
the  last  day  of  August  we  reached  Yarkand,  which,  it 
is  needless  to  say,  showed  no  signs  of  change  since  my 
visit  to  it  three  years  before.  It  is  doubtful,  indeed, 
whether  these  Central  Asian  towns  ever  change.  Their 
dull  mud  walls,  mud  houses,  mud  mosques,  look  as  if 
they  would  remain  the  same  for  ever.  In  most  climates 
they  would,  of  course,  be  washed  away,  but  in  Central 
Asia  there  is  hardly  any  rain,  and  they  remain  on  for 
ages.  There  are  a few  well-built  brick  mosques  and 
some  good  houses.  The  Chinese,  too,  in  their  separate 
town,  have  substantial  buildings.  But  the  native  town 
leaves  a general  impression  of  mud-built  houses  and 
sleepy,  drowsy  changelessness.  “As  it  was  in  the 
beginning,  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be,”  would  be  a 
particularly  appropriate  motto  to  place  over  the  gateway 
of  a Central  Asian  town. 

A few  days  after  we  had  reached  Yarkand,  Captain 
Grombtchevsky,  whom  I had  met  in  the  previous  year, 
also  arrived  there.  I was  going  over  to  visit  him,  when 
he  sent  a message  insisting  upon  calling  upon  me  first, 
and  shortly  afterwards  he  appeared,  dressed  in  uniform, 
with  his  decorations  on.  It  was  a great  pleasure  to  me 
to  meet  him  again,  and  to  hear  from  him  an  account  of 
his  wanderings  since  we  had  parted  near  the  borders 
of  Hunza  nearly  a year  ago.  He  had  had  a trying  time 
since  then,  and  must  have  suffered  considerable  hard- 
ships, for  he  had  attempted  the  Karakoram  Pass  in  the 
middle  of  December,  and  then  passed  on  eastward  to  the 
edge  of  the  high  Tibetan  tableland  in  the  depth  of  winter. 
When  I recall  how  inadequately  he  and  his  party  were 
supplied  with  camp  equipage,  and  how  roughly  alto- 
s 


258 


TO  THE  PAMIRS 


[chap.  XIII 

gether  they  were  travelling,  I cannot  help  admiring  the 
stolid  perseverance  of  this  Russian  explorer  in  ever 
attempting  the  task  he  did. 

Captain  Grombtchevsky  dined  with  us,  and  we  dined 
with  him,  and  then  we  all  dined  with  one  of  the  principal 
merchants  of  the  place.  This  last  dinner  was  an  event  in 
Yarkand,  and  it  is  curious  to  think  of  a Russian  and  an 
English  officer  dining  with  a Turki  merchant  midway 
between  the  Russian  and  Indian  Empires  in  the  heart  of 
Central  Asia.  The  dinner  was  given  in  a house  in  the 
native  city,  and  was  a very  sumptuous  repast ; course 
after  course  of  stews,  pillaos,  and  roast  meat  were  served 
up,  and  the  old  merchant  was  profuse  in  his  hospitality. 

Grombtchevsky,  after  spending  a few  days  in  Yarkand, 
went  off  into  the  mountains  to  the  westward,  to  work  his 
way  homeward  to  Russia  through  some  new  ground  ; 
and  on  September  15  Macartney  and  I also  left  Yarkand 
on  our  way  to  the  Pamirs  ; while  our  companions.  Beech 
and  Lennard,  remained  on  for  a time,  and  then  went  east- 
ward to  shoot  in  the  jungles  of  the  Yarkand  River. 

The  Pamirs  are  now  a well-known  region,  and  much 
has  recently  been  heard  about  them,  but  at  the  time  of 
our  visit  there  was  still  a remnant  of  the  mysterious 
attaching  to  them,  and  we  set  out  with  a good  deal  of 
enthusiasm  to  visit  the  Roof  of  the  World.  We  had 
first  to  make  for  Tashkurgan,  the  principal  place  of 
Sarikol,  and  to  reach  there  we  had  to  cross  ridge  after 
ridge  of  the  outlying  spurs  of  the  range  which  forms  the 
buttress  to  the  Pamirs.  Here  and  there  we  passed  a 
small  village,  but  the  country  was  mostly  uninhabited, 
and  the  hills  bare  and  uninteresting.  By  the  end  of 
September  we  reached  Tashkurgan,  and  were  on  the 
borders  of  the  Pamirs.  Tashkurgan  looks  an  important 
place,  as  it  is  marked  in  capital  letters  on  most  maps,  but 
it  is  in  reality  merely  a small  fort  built  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir.  There  are  several  small 
hamlets  near  it ; but,  being  ten  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea,  cultivation  is,  of  course,  not  very  productive,  and 
the  district  can  therefore  support  only  a small  population. 


VALLEY  IN  THE  HINDU  KUSH  To  face  page  258 


THE  LITTLE  PAMIR 


259 


i8go] 

Above  Tashkurgan  is  seen  the  wide  Pamir  of  the 
Tagh-dum-bash,  down  which  I had  ridden  to  this  place 
in  the  previous  year,  and  overhanging  it  on  the  west 
was  a rugged  range  of  snowy  peaks,  which  part  the 
waters  of  Asia,  those  on  the  west  flowing  into  the  Oxus, 
and  destined  to  mark  the  dividing-line  between  spheres  of 
influence  of  two  great  empires,  and  those  to  the  east 
flowing  into  the  Yarkand  River,  and  ending  their  career 
in  Lob  Nor.  Behind  this  range  were  the  chief  Pamirs — 
the  Little,  the  Great,  and  the  Alichur  Pamirs — which  it 
was  now  our  special  object  to  visit. 

On  October  3 we  left  Tashkurgan  to  ascend  the  gorge 
which  leads  up  to  the  Neza-tash  Pass.  The  way  was 
rough  and  stony,  and  the  last  part  of  the  ascent  steep, 
but  we  took  our  ponies  over  without  any  serious  difficulty, 
and  from  the  other  side  of  the  pass  looked  down  upon  a 
succession  of  bare,  rounded,  uninteresting  spurs  and 
barren  valleys  running  towards  the  Little  Pamir.  After 
descending  one  of  these,  we  found  ourselves  on  what 
might  almost  be  called  a plain  ; it  was  flat  and  level,  four 
or  five  miles  broad,  and  extended  for  many  miles  on 
either  hand,  till  the  border  of  the  mountain  ranges  hid 
it  from  view.  There  was  the  Little  Pamir.  On  the  side 
by  which  we  had  entered  it,  it  was  bounded  by  high 
snow-clad  mountains,  but  opposite  us  were  low  rounded 
spurs,  hardly  high  enough  to  be  dignified  with  the  name 
of  mountains  or  to  be  covered  with  permanent  snow. 

The  other  Pamirs  which  we  visited  differed  but  very 
slightly,  so  that  some  detailed  description  of  this  one 
will  suffice.  We  have,  then,  a level  plain  bounded  by 
ranges  of  mountains  of  varying  height  on  either  side  ; 
and  perhaps  the  best  idea  of  what  this  is  like  will  be 
gathered  from  an  account  of  how  it  is  formed.  We 
must  therefore  look  back  some  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  years,  to  the  time  when  these  mountains  were  first 
upheaved.  Whether  that  upheaval  was  sudden,  as  Sir 
Henry  Howorth  supposes,  or  gradual,  as  seems  to  be 
generally  the  case  in  the  formation  of  mountains,  there 
would  in  either  case  be  clefts  and  hollows  between  the 


26o 


TO  THE  PAMIRS 


[chap,  xiii 


unevenness  which  formed  the  various  ranges  of  the 
mountain  chain.  Snow  would  fall  in  the  upper  parts, 
collect  in  masses  in  the  hollows,  and  gradually  form  into 
glaciers.  Then  these  glaciers,  each  with  its  burden  of 
debris  of  rocks  and  stone  from  the  mountain-sides,  would 
come  creeping  down  and  gradually  fill  up  the  bottoms  of 
the  valleys  parting  the  various  ranges.  In  former  times, 
on  these  Pamirs,  glaciers  descended  much  lower  than 
they  do  now,  and  in  all  parts  of  them  the  moraines  of 
old  glaciers  may  be  seen  down  in  the  valley  bottoms  to 
which  no  glaciers  now  descend.  All  these  Pamirs  were 
therefore  in  former  times  filled  with  vast  glaciers,  and  as 
the  ice  of  them  melted  away  the  stony  detritus  remained 
and  formed  the  plains  which  are  seen  at  the  present  day. 
If  the  rainfall  were  more  abundant,  this  detritus  would  of 
course  be  washed  out  by  the  river  flowing  through  the 
valley  ; but  in  these  lofty  regions,  where  the  very  lowest 
part  of  the  valleys  is  over  twelve  thousand  feet  above  sea- 
level,  the  rivers  are  frozen  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
year,  they  are  unable  to  do  the  work  that  is  required  of 
them,  and  the  valleys  remain  choked  up  with  the  old 
glacier-borne  debris  of  bygone  ages.  Lower  down,  how- 
ever, in  the  states  of  Wakhan,  Shignan  and  Roshan, 
where  the  rivers  have  reached  a level  low  enough  to 
remain  unfrozen  for  a time  sufficiently  long  to  carry  out 
their  duties  properly,  the  valleys  have  been  cleared  out, 
the  Pamir  country  has  disappeared,  and  in  place  of  the 
broad  flat  valley  bottom,  we  see  deep-cut  gorges  and 
narrow  defiles. 

I hope  this  description  will  have  enabled  my  readers  to 
understand  that  the  Pamirs  do  not  form  a high  plateau  or 
tableland,  as  has  often  been  supposed,  but  a series  of 
valleys  of  a type  common  in  very  elevated  regions  where 
the  winter  is  long  and  the  rainfall  in  summer  small,  but 
not  elsewhere.  Tibet  is  a collection  of  Pamirs  on  a large 
scale,  for  there,  too,  there  is  not  sufficient  water  to  wash 
out  the  valleys  down  to  their  bottoms,  and  in  many  parts 
of  the  Himalayas,  the  Karakoram  Mountains,  and  the 
Hindu  Kush,  where  similar  conditions  exist,  there  are 


iSgo]  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  PAMIRS  261 

regular  pamirs.  And  by  this  time  the  reader  will  have 
gathered  that  the  word  “pamir”  is  merely  the  distinctive 
name  of  this  particular  kind  of  valley.  The  Shimshal 
Pass  into  Hunza  is  called  by  the  people  of  that  country 
the  Shimshal  Pamir,  though  it  is  far  away  from  the 
regions  which  we  mark  on  our  maps  as  “The  Pamirs.” 

This,  then,  is  the  physical  formation  of  the  Pamirs. 
Of  their  outward  clothing  many  conflicting  accounts  have 
been  given.  One  traveller,  going  to  them  in  the  late 
autumn,  when  everything  living  had  been  nipped  by 
frost,  says  that  they  are  an  utterly  desolate  region. 
Another,  seeing  portions  of  them  in  the  summer,  says 
that  they  are  covered  with  the  most  splendid  grass.  My 
own  experience  was  that,  though  grass  of  a close,  good 
quality  was  to  be  found  in  certain  places,  the  greater  part 
of  the  valley  bottoms  is  covered  with  coarse  wormwood 
scrub  only.  Patches  of  rich  pasture  are  to  be  found 
here  and  there,  but  no  one  must  imagine  rolling  grassy 
plains  on  the  Pamirs.  This  is  what  I had  expected,  and 
I thought  the  ponies  of  my  caravan  would  have  an  abund- 
ance of  rich  pasture  to  graze  on  ; but  I was  sadly  dis- 
appointed to  find  that  only  in  a few  favoured  spots  could 
they  obtain  this,  and  that  for  the  greater  part  of  the  way 
they  had  to  content  themselves  with  picking  about  among 
scrub. 

Trees,  of  course,  are  never  seen,  and  even  shrubs  and 
bushes  in  a few  places  only.  Consequently  fuel  is  scarce, 
and  the  inhabitants  and  travellers  have  to  content  them- 
selves with  the  roots  of  the  wormwood. 

The  climate,  as  might  be  imagined,  is  very  severe.  I 
have  only  been  there  in  the  late  summer  and  early 
autumn  ; but  I found  ice  in  the  basin  inside  my  tent  in 
August,  the  thermometer  at  zero  (Fahrenheit)  by  the  end 
of  September,  and  eighteen  degrees  below  zero  at  the 
end  of  October.  Lord  Dunmore  found  his  thermometer 
at  five  degrees  below  zero  inside  his  tent  in  November. 
Strong  winds,  too,  are  very  frequent,  and  increase  the 
discomfort  arising  from  the  cold  very  considerably,  and 
this  is  further  augmented  by  the  lassitude  and  weakness 


262 


TO  THE  PAMIRS 


[chap.  XIII 


brought  on  by  the  elevation.  So  that  the  cold,  the 
winds,  and  the  elevation  together,  render  life  on  the 
Pamirs  anything  but  cheering. 

In  spite  of  this  severity  of  the  climate,  however,  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Pamirs  remain  there  the  whole  year 
round.  They  are  almost  entirely  Kirghiz,  with  a few 
refugees  from  Wakhan.  These  Kirghiz  are  a rough, 
hardy  race,  as  they  must  necessarily  be  ; but  they  have 
little  character,  and  no  aptitude  for  fighting.  They  are 
avaricious  and  indolent,  and  possess  few  qualities  which 
would  attract  a stranger  to  them.  They  live  in  the  same 
felt  tents  which  I have  already  described  in  the  account  of 
my  journey  from  Peking. 

At  Aktash  we  found  three  or  four  tents  and  a “ beg  ” or 
headman  appointed  by  the  Chinese.  He  was  very  civil 
to  us,  and  made  no  difficulties  whatever  about  our  proceed- 
ing round  the  Pamirs,  which  at  that  time  were  considered 
Chinese  territory.  We  accordingly  struck  off  almost  due 
west  across  the  range  on  the  western  side  of  the  Little 
Pamir  to  the  valley  of  Istigh  River.  In  all  this  eastern 
part  of  the  Pamirs  the  mountain  ranges  are  low  and  easily 
crossed.  No  snow-peaks  like  those  to  the  west  of  the 
Victoria  Lake,  or  the  Lake  of  the  Little  Pamir,  are  to  be 
seen.  They  appear  to  have  all  been  worn  down  and  rounded 
off.  We  had  no  difficulty,  therefore,  in  crossing  first  into 
the  valley  of  the  Istigh,  and  from  there  to  Chadir  Tash,  on 
the  Alichur  Pamir.  On  the  way,  at  a place  called  Ak-chak- 
tash,  we  found  some  hot  springs,  the  temperature  of  which 
exceeded  one  hundred  and  forty  degrees,  the  highest  point 
to  which  my  thermometer  reached.  The  occurrence  of 
these  hot  springs  is  not  at  all  infrequent  in  these  parts. 
In  the  Ash-kuman,  Yarkhun,  and  Lutku  valleys  of  Chitral 
there  are  similar  springs,  which  are  much  used  by  the 
people,  and  are  believed  by  them  to  contain  valuable 
medicinal  properties. 

At  one  spot  before  reaching  the  Alichur  Pamir,  I counted 
seventy  Ovis  poli  horns  within  a quarter  of  a mile.  This, 
of  course,  was  an  unusually  large  number  to  meet  with, 
but  everywhere  on  the  Pamirs  these  fine  horns  are  seen 


AN  ANCIENT  MONUMENT 


263 


1890] 

lying  about  the  valleys  and  hillsides.  The  Pamirs,  as  is 
well  known,  are  the  home  of  these  magnificent  Ovis  poli 
sheep,  as  big  as  donkeys,  with  horns  measuring  frequently 
sixty  inches,  and  in  one  known  case  seventy-three  inches, 
round  the  curve.  The  animal  stands  over  twelve  hands 
in  height,  and  the  weight  of  the  head  alone,  even  when 
skinned,  is  over  forty  pounds. 

The  Alichur  Pamir  we  found  to  be  an  open  valley,  from 
four  to  five  miles  in  width,  and  bounded  on  either  side  by 
barren  brown  hills.  At  the  time  of  our  visit,  grass  at  the 
head  of  the  valley  was  very  scanty ; but  lower  down 
towards  Yeshilkul  there  were  some  good  pasturages,  and 
a few  Kirghiz  encamped  by  them.  It  was  now  our  inten- 
tion to  visit  a spot  which  has  since  become  historic,  and 
indeed  was  already  historic,  though  its  name  had  not 
before  been  known  to  the  European  world.  This  was 
Somatash.  Mr.  Ney  Elias,  who  had  travelled  in  this,  as 
he  has  in  almost  every  other  part  of  Asia,  though  the 
record  of  most  of  his  travels  has  never  been  published, 
had  heard  rumours  of  the  existence  of  a stone  monument 
with  an  inscription  on  it  erected  on  the  shores  of  Lake 
Yeshil-kul  (or  Lake  Yeshil,  as  one  ought  really  to  call  it, 
the  word  kul  itself  meaning  “ lake  ”).  My  Kirghiz  friends 
corroborated  these  rumours,  and  Macartney  and  I rode  off 
from  Bash  Gumbaz  to  have  a look  at  the  stone.  We  had 
a long  day’s  ride,  passing  by  several  small  lakes  in  the 
hollows  of  the  moraines  of  ancient  glaciers,  and  at  night 
we  halted  just  at  the  point  where  the  Alichur  River  enters 
the  Yeshil-kul.  Our  baggage,  including  our  bedding 
and  cooking  things,  was  brought  on  more  slowly,  and  we 
spent  the  night  cold  and  hungry  in  a yurt,  which  had 
been  sent  on  for  us,  but  we  were  delighted  the  next  morn- 
ing to  find  the  stone.  It  was  the  broken  remains  of  a large 
tablet  mounted  on  a pedestal,  and  placed  about  a hundred 
feet  or  more  above  the  river,  on  its  right  bank,  a few 
hundred  yards  before  it  flowed  into  the  lake.  The  inscrip- 
tion was  in  Chinese,  Manchu,  and  Turki,  and  evidently 
referred  to  the  expulsion  of  the  Khojas  in  1759,  and  the 
pursuit  of  them  by  the  Chinese  to  the  Badakhshan 


264 


TO  THE  PAMIRS 


[chap.  XIII 

frontier.  Above  this  ancient  monument,  on  the  left  bank, 
was  a ruined  Chinese  fort,  built  many  years  before. 

The  place  is  of  historic  interest,  as  it  is  the  scene  of  the 
conflict  between  the  Russians  and  the  Afghans  in  1892. 
An  account  of  this  has  been  given  by  Lord  Dunmore, 
who  visited  the  spot  only  a few  weeks  after  the  event,  and 
found  the  dead  bodies  of  the  Afghans  lying  there.  The 
Afghans  appear  to  have  sent  a small  outpost  of  about 
fifteen  men  to  this  place.  A Russian  party,  under  Colonel 
Yonoff,  making  its  annual  promenade  of  the  Pamirs,  came 
up  to  them,  fired  on  them,  and  killed  every  single  man. 

After  taking  a rubbing  of  the  inscription  on  the  monu- 
ment, which  has,  by  the  way,  been  since  removed  by  the 
Russians  and  placed  in  the  museum  at  Tashkent,  we  rode 
back  to  Buzilla  Jai,  and  the  following  day  retraced  our 
steps  up  the  Alichur  Pamir.  I do  not  think  there  is  any- 
thing special  to  record  about  this  Pamir.  It  is  of  exactly 
the  same  description  as  all  the  rest.  The  principal  routes 
leading  to  it  are  : (i)  that  leading  right  along  it  from  the 
valley  of  the  Aksu  River  to  Shignan  ; (2)  that  from  Sarez 
on  the  west  by  the  Marjunai  Pass,  a somewhat  difficult 
one,  which  has,  however,  repeatedly  been  crossed  by 
Russian  military  parties  ; (3)  by  the  Bash  Gumbaz  and 
Khargosh  Passes — both  practicable  for  ponies  to  the 
Great  Pamir ; and  (4)  that  by  the  Kokbai  Pass  to 
Shakhdarra.  All  these  passes  have  been  crossed  and 
recrossed  repeatedly  by  Russian  military  parties.  They 
are  most  of  them  between  fourteen  thousand  and  fifteen 
thousand  feet  in  height,  and  consequently  about  two 
thousand  feet  above  the  valley  bottom. 

The  Neza-tash  Pass,  which  we  now  crossed  on  our  way 
eastward  to  the  valley  of  the  Aksu,  is  about  fourteen 
thousand  two  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  on  the  west 
side  is  very  easy  of  ascent.  The  descent  is  more  difficult, 
and  is  steep  and  stony.  It  led  us  down  the  Karasu 
stream  to  the  Aksu  River,  just  before  that  enters  the 
gorges  which  henceforth  confine  it.  At  the  point  where 
we  struck  it  the  valley  was  flat,  and  more  than  a mile  in 
width,  and  covered  with  good  grass,  and  I was  informed 


A RUSSIAN  OUTPOST 


265 


1890] 

by  the  Kirghiz  with  me  that  this  spot  was  called  Sarez. 
It  must  be  distinguished  from  the  Sarez  a little  lower 
down,  but  this  is  probably  the  part  which  the  “ Sarez 
Pamir  ” marked  on  so  many  maps  is  meant  to  indicate. 
It  might  be  said  to  extend  from  the  vicinity  of  the  mouth 
of  the  Karasu  stream  to  near  the  junction  of  the  Ak-baital 
with  the  Aksu. 

At  this  latter  point,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Aksu,  is 
Murghabi.  At  the  time  of  my  visit  there  was  nothing 
here  but  four  or  five  Kirghiz  tents  among  the  pasturages 
by  the  river,  and  some  old  tombs  on  the  high  ground 
above,  but  there  is  now  a Russian  outpost  permanently 
established.  It  is  a dreary,  desolate  spot,  twelve  thousand 
four  hundred  feet  above  sea-level,  with  a certain  amount 
of  grassy  pasture  and  a few  scrubby  bushes  by  the  river, 
but  surrounded  by  barren  hills,  and  bitterly  cold.  How 
these  Russian  soldiers  can  support  existence  there  is  a 
marvel,  but  they  can  hardly  do  so  without  frequent  relief. 
One  can  imagine  that  they  must  often  long  to  push  on 
down  to  more  hospitable  regions  in  front  of  them.  An 
officer  shut  up  in  these  dreary  quarters,  with  nothing 
whatever  to  do — week  after  week  and  month  after  month 
passing  by  in  dull  monotony  only  the  same  barren  hills  to 
look  at,  the  same  stroll  about  the  fort  to  be  taken— must 
long  to  go  on.  “ What’s  the  good  of  staying  here?  ” one 
can  imagine  his  saying.  “Why  don’t  Government  send 
us  on  to  a proper  place,  a place  worth  having?”  It  is  only 
human  nature  that  he  should  wish  so,  and  when  he  is  in 
this  frame  of  mind  it  obviously  requires  a very  little  induce- 
ment to  move  him  on,  and  a pretty  tight  rein  from  behind 
to  keep  him  still. 

However,  at  the  time  of  my  visit  to  Murghabi,  no 
Russian  soldier  had  yet  suffered  exile  in  that  spot.  We 
only  found  a few  Kirghiz,  and  after  spending  a night 
there,  we  pushed  on  up  the  course  of  the  Ak-baital 
(White  Mare)  River  to  Rang-kul.  The  Ak-baital  now, 
at  the  end  of  October,  had  no  water  in  it.  The  valley 
was  two  or  three  miles  broad  and  very  barren.  No  water 
was  to  be  found  nearer  than  Rang-kul,  so  we  had  to  make 


266 


TO  THE  PAMIRS 


[chap.  XllI 


a long  march  of  it  to  that  place.  We  kept  along  the 
shores  of  the  lake  for  several  miles,  and  on  the  way 
passed  an  interesting  rock  called  the  Chiragh-tash,  or 
Lamp  Rock.  It  stands  out  over  the  lake  at  the  end  of  a 
spur,  and  at  its  summit  is  a cave  with  what  the  native 
thought  was  a perpetual  light  burning  in  it.  This  light 
was  variously  reported  to  come  from  either  the  eye  of  a 
dragon,  or  from  a jewel  placed  in  its  forehead.  On 
coming  up  to  this  rock  I asked  to  be  shown  the  light,  and 
there,  sure  enough,  was  a cave,  in  the  roof  of  which  was 
a faint  white  light,  which  had  the  appearance  of  being 
caused  by  some  phosphorescent  substance.  I asked  if 
any  one  had  ever  been  up  to  the  cave  to  see  what  was 
inside  it,  but  the  Kirghiz  said  that  no  one  would  dare 
to  do  so.  I fancy,  however,  that  laziness  and  indifference, 
quite  as  much  as  fear,  was  the  cause  of  their  never  having 
ascended  to  the  cave,  for  Orientals  seldom  have  any 
curiosity  to  discover  the  reason  of  phenomena.  I was 
more  curious,  so  I ascended  the  spur  with  my  Pathan 
servant,  and,  reaching  the  rock,  clambered  up  it,  the  last 
twenty  feet  in  cat-like  fashion,  without  boots,  and  cling- 
ing on  with  toes  and  fingers  only ; for  the  rock,  just  for 
that  final  bit,  was  almost  perpendicular.  We  entered  the 
mouth  of  the  cave.  I looked  eagerly  round  to  discover 
the  source  of  the  light,  and,  when  I had  got  fairly  on  my 
legs,  found  that  the  cave  was  simply  a hole  right  through 
the  rock,  and  that  the  light  came  in  from  the  other  side. 
From  below,  of  course,  this  cannot  be  seen,  for  the 
observer  merely  sees  the  top  of  the  cave,  and  this,  being 
covered  with  some  white  deposit,  reflects  back  the  light 
which  has  come  in  from  the  opening  on  the  other  side. 
This,  then,  was  the  secret  of  the  Cave  of  Perpetual  Light, 
which  I am  told  is  mentioned  in  histories  many  hundreds 
of  years  old. 

We  camped  that  night  by  a few  Kirghiz  yurts,  in  an 
extensive  grassy  plain  to  the  east  of  Rang-kul,  and  away 
at  the  end  of  the  plain  could  be  seen  the  magnificent 
snow  mass  of  the  Mustagh-ata,  the  Father  of  Mountains, 
twenty-five  thousand  feet  in  height. 


FIFTY  DEGREES  OF  FROST 


267 


i8go] 

The  ordinary  route  to  Kashgar,  to  which  place  we  were 
now  making,  leads  on  eastward  from  Rang-kul  over  the 
Ak-berdi  Pass,  and  down  the  Gez  River.  But  I was 
anxious  to  visit  the  Great  Kara-kul  Lake,  so  I pushed 
northward  through  the  depressingly  barren  hills  which 
bound  the  Rang-kul  Lake,  and  encamped  the  first  night 
at  the  foot  of  the  Kizil  Jek  Pass.  Up  till  now  we  had 
been  fortunate  enough  always  to  have  yurts  put  up  for  us 
at  each  halting-place,  and  these  thick  felt-walled  tents, 
with  a fire  inside  them,  can  be  made  really  very  comfort- 
ably warm.  At  any  rate,  you  have  the  fire,  and  can  warm 
yourself  thoroughly  when  you  want  to.  But  a thin 
canvas  tent,  in  which  a fire  cannot  be  lighted,  is  a very 
different  thing,  and  henceforward  we  had  it  piercingly 
cold.  All  the  country  between  Rang-kul  and  Kara-kul 
is  barren  in  the  extreme.  Cold  wind  used  to  rush  down 
the  valleys,  and  the  night  before  we  crossed  the  Kizil  Jek 
Pass  the  thermometer  fell  to  eighteen  degrees  below  zero 
(Fahrenheit) — just  fifty  degrees  of  frost. 

The  Kizil  Jek  was  quite  an  easy  pass — merely  a steep 
rise  up  one  valley,  over  a saddle,  and  down  another.  On 
the  northern  side  we  found  the  country  as  inhospitable  as 
it  had  been  on  the  southern,  and  on  the  day  after  crossing 
the  pass  we  encamped  in  a barren  plain  on  the  shores  of 
the  Great  Kara-kul.  This  is  a fine  lake  more  than  a 
dozen  miles  in  length,  and  the  day  on  which  we  reached 
it  it  presented  a magnificent  spectacle.  A terrific  wind 
was  blowing,  lashing  the  water  into  waves  till  the  whole 
was  a mass  of  foam.  Heavy  snow-clouds  were  scudding 
across  the  scene,  and  through  them,  beyond  the  tossing 
lake,  could  be  seen  dark  rocky  masses  ; and  high  above 
all  this  turmoil  below,  appeared  the  calm  majestic  Peak 
Kaufmann,  twenty-three  thousand  feet  in  height. 

I boiled  my  thermometer  very  carefully,  to  ascertain 
the  difference  of  level  between  the  Rang-kul  and  this 
lake,  and  then  we  turned  off  sharp  to  the  eastward,  to 
hurry  down  to  the  warmer  regions  of  Kashgar.  Winter 
was  fast  coming  on,  and  we  required  little  inducement  to 
push  rapidly  on  to  the  plains.  We  crossed  out  of  the 


268 


TO  THE  PAMIRS 


[chap,  xni 


basin  of  the  Kara-kul  by  the  Kara-art  Pass,  fifteen  thou- 
sand eight  hundred  feet.  It  is  well  known  that  the  lake 
has  no  exit.  No  water  flows  out  from  it.  There  is  very 
little  indeed  that  flows  into  it,  and  it  can  well  be  kept  at 
its  present  level  by  evaporation  only.  But  there  are 
evident  signs  all  round  the  lake  that  in  former  times  it 
reached  a much  higher  level  than  it  does  at  present.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Kara-art  Pass  may  have  been  lower ; 
for  the  neck  which  forms  the  pass  is  composed  of  old 
moraine  and  debris^  which  might  have  accumulated  after 
the  lake  had  fallen.  There  is  a possibility,  therefore,  that 
in  former  times  the  waters  of  the  lake  may  have  flowed 
out  over  where  the  Kara-art  Pass  is  now. 

Following  down  the  bed  of  the  Kara-art  stream,  on  the 
northern  side  of  the  pass,  through  rugged,  bare  moun- 
tains, we  struck  the  Markan-su,  followed  that  river  for 
one  march,  and  then,  turning  off  eastward,  passed  along 
the  spurs  which  form  the  northern  declivity  of  the  but- 
tress range  of  the  Pamirs  to  Opal.  We  were  off  the 
high  ground  now;  the  climate  was  milder,  and  both  in  the 
valley  of  the  Markan-su  and  along  these  spurs  patches  of 
jungle  were  seen,  and  dwarf  pine  on  the  hillsides. 

At  Opal  we  were  again  in  the  plains  of  Turkestan,  and 
on  November  i reached  Kashgar,  where  my  official 
duties  kept  me  for  the  winter. 

We  were  to  make  Kashgar  our  winter  quarters,  and  we 
found  a native  house  prepared  for  us  on  the  north  side  of 
the  old  city.  It  was  pleasantly  situated  on  some  rising 
ground,  and  looked  out  to  the  north  over  the  cultivated 
and  tree-covered  plain  round  Kashgar  to  the  snowy  peaks 
of  the  Tian-shan.  From  far  away  on  the  east,  round  to 
the  north,  and  then  away  again  on  the  east,  these  snowy 
mountains  extended  ; and  from  the  roof  of  our  house  we 
could  see  that  magnificent  peak,  the  Mustagh-ata,  rising 
twenty-one  thousand  feet  above  the  plain.  About  the 
house  was  a garden,  which  gave  us  seclusion,  and  in  this 
garden  I had  pitched  a Kirghiz  yurt,  which  I had  bought 
on  the  Pamirs,  One  night  up  there  we  had  found  an  un- 
usually large  and  very  tastefully  furnished  yurt  provided 


THE  POWER  OF  NOISE 


269 


1890] 

for  us.  It  was  quite  new,  was  twenty  feet  in  diameter, 
and  about  fourteen  feet  high  in  the  centre,  with  walls  six 
feet  high  all  round.  But  what  surprised  us  most  was  to 
find  it  most  elegantly  decorated.  The  walls  were  made 
of  a very  handsome  screen-work,  and  round  the  inside  of 
the  dome-like  roof  were  dadoes  of  fine  carpeting  and  em- 
broidery. I was  so  taken  with  this  tent,  that  I persuaded 
the  owner  to  sell  it  to  me,  and  carried  it  off  to  Kashgar 
on  a couple  of  camels,  and  lived  in  it  the  whole  winter. 
With  good  carpets  on  the  ground,  and  a stove  to  warm  it, 
it  made  a very  comfortable  place  to  live  in,  and,  person- 
ally, I preferred  it  to  a house. 

This  tent  I found  ready  pitched  on  my  arrival  in 
Kashgar,  and  it  was  very  delightful  to  feel  myself  com- 
fortably settled  down  again  after  our  rough  and  constant 
travelling.  It  was  curious,  too,  to  note  the  change  from 
the  lonely  mountains  to  this  populous  town.  On  the 
Pamirs  at  night  all  had  been  as  still  as  death,  but  here 
we  felt  the  town  beside  us  ; the  great  gongs  of  the  Chinese 
guard-houses  beat  the  hours  through  the  night,  and  at 
nine  o’clock  a gun  was  fired  and  trumpets  were  blown. 
The  Chinese  are  always  good  at  effect,  however  bad  they 
may  be  in  practice  ; and  as,  in  countries  like  Turkestan, 
a good  deal  may  be  done  by  effect  alone,  I think  this 
noisy  parade  of  watchfulness  must  make  no  small  im- 
pression on  the  people.  The  deep  booming  of  the  gongs 
through  the  stillness  of  the  night,  the  blaring  of  the 
trumpets,  and  the  noise  of  the  cannon,  nightly  remind 
the  inhabitants  of  these  towns  of  Turkestan  that  the 
conquerors,  who  have  returned  again  and  again  to  the 
country,  are  still  among  them  and  still  on  the  watch. 

The  day  following  our  arrival,  we  called  on  M.  Petrovsky, 
the  Russian  consul,  whom  I had  met  here,  in  1887,  on 
my  way  to  India  from  Peking.  He  and  Madame  Petrovsky, 
their  son,  M.  Putsch,  the  secretary,  and  a Cossack  officer 
in  command  of  the  escort,  made  up  a very  pleasant  little 
Russian  colony  here  in  Kashgar,  and  it  was  a comfort  to 
think  that  during  the  winter  we  should  not  be  thrown 
entirely  upon  our  own  resources,  but  would  have  the 
advantage  of  intercourse  with  other  Europeans. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR 

During  the  first  days  of  our  stay  in  Kashgar,  we 
had  a round  of  visits  to  make  on  Chinese  officials. 
Kashgar  is  the  principal  town  of  the  western  part  of 
Chinese  Turkestan,  and  there  is  here  a Taotai  in  civil 
charge  of  the  Kashgar,  Yarkand,  and  Khotan  districts, 
as  well  as  of  the  Kirghiz  along  the  frontier.  There  is 
also,  at  Kashgar,  a general  in  command  of  the  troops  in 
these  districts,  who  lives  in  the  new  town,  about  two  and 
a half  miles  to  the  south  of  the  old  town  of  Kashgar,  in 
which  the  Taotai  lives.  Of  these  two  functionaries,  the 
civil  governor  is  the  more  important,  and  he  is  surrounded 
with  a good  deal  of  state.  His  official  residence  is  of  the 
usual  Chinese  type,  with  fine  rooms  and  courtyards,  and 
the  massive  gateways  so  characteristic  of  these  places. 
Here  he  receives  visitors  of  distinction  with  considerable 
ceremony;  but  it  is  when  he  goes  out  that  he  appears  with 
the  greatest  pomp.  Then  men  with  gongs  and  trumpets 
go  in  front,  a large  procession  is  formed,  and  both  on 
leaving  and  returning  to  his  residence  a salute  is  fired. 
He  is  carried  along  in  a handsome  sedan  chair,  and  every 
sign  of  respect  is  paid  to  him.  Here  again  the  Chinese 
show  their  skill  in  the  art  of  impressing  those  they  govern, 
for  the  sight — not  too  common — of  their  governor  parading 
through  the  streets  of  the  city  in  this  ceremonial  manner 
undoubtedly  has  its  effect.  I do  not  say  that  this  ruling 
by  effect  is  a good  way  of  ruling,  and  as  a good  deal  of 
the  effect  is  obtained  by  keeping  the  rulers  aloof  and  in- 
accessible, it  is  in  that  respect  bad.  But  in  this  particular 
line  of  governing  the  Chinese  certainly  are  at  the  top  of 
the  tree. 


270 


271 


iSgo]  A CHINESE  VIEW  OF  EUROPEANS 

The  Taotai  and  I performed  the  usual  civilities  to  each 
other.  I called  on  him  first,  of  course,  and  he  returned 
my  visit,  accompanied  by  his  usual  procession.  The 
visits  of  Chinese  officials  are  always  of  considerable 
length,  and  the  Taotai  would  remain  for  a couple  of 
hours  or  so  talking  away  upon  any  subject  which  cropped 
up.  He  was  an  old  man,  who  had  done  much  good 
service  in  Chinese  Turkestan  during  the  Mohammedan 
rebellion,  but  he  was  now  weak  and  past  his  best.  When 
we  had  become  more  intimate,  he  told  me  that  he  had 
no  very  high  idea  of  European  civilisation,  for  we  were 
always  fighting  with  one  another.  We  were  not  bad  at 
inventing  machines  and  guns,  but  we  had  none  of  that 
calm,  lofty  spirit  which  the  Chinese  possessed,  and  which 
enabled  them  to  look  at  the  petty  squabbles  between 
nations  with  equanimity  and  dignity.  We  spent  all  our 
time  in  matters  which  should  only  concern  mechanics  and 
low-class  people  of  that  sort,  and  gave  ourselves  no  oppor- 
tunity for  contemplating  higher  things.  These  were  the 
Taotai’s  ideas  on  Europeans,  and  it  was  interesting  to  see 
the  calm  air  of  superiority  with  which  these  views  were 
given. 

The  Taotai’s  secretary — a thorough  scamp,  who  was 
subsequently  removed  for  gross  bribery — was  another 
official  with  whom  we  had  a good  deal  of  intercourse  at 
Kashgar.  He  had  been  at  Shanghai,  and  had  some 
knowledge  of  Europeans.  He  used  to  say  that  the  Chinese 
could  never  understand  why  the  Russians  went  to  all  the 
trouble  and  expense  of  keeping  a consulate  at  Kashgar 
to  look  after  the  trade  there,  when  in  a whole  year  only 
as  much  merchandise  was  brought  into  the  country  as  is 
imported  into  Shanghai  by  a single  British  steamer. 

The  official,  however,  whom  we  came  to  know  the  best 
was  the  general  in  command  of  the  troops  quartered  in 
the  old  or  native  city,  near  which  our  house  was  situated. 
Old  General  Wang  was  very  friendly,  and  used  to  get  up 
dinner-parties  for  us  in  his  barracks,  and  insisted  upon 
calling  me  by  my  Christian  name.  Like  all  Chinese 
military  officials,  he  was  very  indifferently  educated,  and 


272 


A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR  [chap,  xiv 

having  learnt  the  art  of  writing  long  scrolls  with  quota- 
tions from  classics,  he  was  very  proud  of  his  accomplish- 
ment. The  barracks  in  which  his  men  lived  were  really 
extremely  comfortable.  Chinamen — at  any  rate  the  in- 
habitants of  North  China — seldom  live  in  squalor,  and 
these  barracks  were  well  constructed,  roomy,  and  com- 
fortable. The  officers’  houses  were  especially  neat.  The 
only  things  that  were  badly  looked  after  were  the  arms. 
The  Chinese  never  can  look  after  their  guns  and  rifles 
properly  ; and  although  there  were  many  good  breech- 
loading rifles  in  the  hands  of  these  men,  they  would  prob- 
ably be  perfectly  useless  on  account  of  the  rust.  I think 
what  chiefly  struck  me  about  the  arrangements  of  these 
barracks  was  the  family-party  air  which  pervaded  the 
whole.  Here  was  the  comfortable  old  general,  only  bent 
on  taking  things  as  easily  as  possible,  and  the  officers 
and  men  appeared  to  be  merely  there  to  attend  to  his 
wants.  They  had  to  look  after  him,  and  hang  about  him 
generally ; but  they  might  be  quite  sure  that  he  would 
not  trouble  them  with  any  excess  of  military  zeal,  and 
they  might  go  on  leading  a quiet,  peaceful  existence  till 
their  turn  for  command  came  round.  The  men  worked 
hard  at  their  vegetable  gardens  outside  the  barracks,  and 
Ave  had  opportunities  of  testing  the  excellent  quality  of 
the  vegetables  which  they  turned  out ; but  drill  and  rifle- 
practice  were  very  seldom  carried  on.  As  far  as  our 
personal  comfort  was  concerned,  this  was  lucky,  for  one 
day  when  rifle-practice  was  going  on,  I had  just  turned 
the  corner  of  a wall  when  a bullet  came  whizzing  close  by 
my  head ; the  troops  were  at  rifle-practice,  and  firing 
right  across  a public  way,  without  taking  any  precaution 
to  warn  people. 

But  my  intercourse  at  Kashgar  was  not  only  with  the 
Chinese  ; I also  saw  there  men  from  nearly  every  part  of 
Asia.  It  is  a curious  meeting-ground  of  many  nation- 
alities from  north  and  south,  and  from  east  and  west  of 
Asia  ; from  Russian  territory  and  from  India,  from  China, 
and  from  Afghanistan  and  Bokhara,  even  men  from  Con- 
stantinople. With  all  of  these  I had  from  time  to  time 


iSgi]  THE  CENTRAL  ASIAN  QUESTION 


273 


opportunities  of  speaking.  Ethnologically  they  differed 
greatly,  but  they  were  all  Asiatics,  and  nearly  all  traders, 
and  their  general  characteristics,  in  consequence,  varied 
but  little.  The  effect  of  Central  Asian  listlessness  had 
made  itself  felt  on  all.  The  wild  fanatical  Pathan  from 
the  Indian  frontier  allowed  his  ardour  to  cool  down  here 
till  he  became  almost  as  mild  as  the  comfortable  merchant 
from  Bokhara.  All  were  intelligent  men  who,  in  their 
wanderings,  had  picked  up  much  useful  knowledge  ; and 
as  a rule  the  constant  rubbing  up  against  their  neigh- 
bours had  produced  good  manners  in  them.  They  were 
seldom  anything  else  but  courteous,  if  they  knew  that 
courtesy  would  be  shown  to  them,  and  a visit  from  any  of 
them  was  always  a pleasure.  They  discussed  politics 
constantly,  as  their  trade  depended  so  much  upon  the 
political  situation  ; and  the  man  in  all  Asia  whom  they 
watched  with  the  keenest  interest  was  Abdul  Rahman, 
the  Amir  of  Kabul.  On  him  and  on  his  life  so  much  of 
their  little  fortunes  depended.  He  was  credited  with 
boundless  ambitions.  At  one  time  he  was  to  attack  the 
Chinese  in  Kashgar,  and  turn  them  out ; at  another  he 
was  to  invade  Bokhara  ; and  four  times  during  our  stay 
in  Kashgar  he  was  dead  altogether.  These  Central  Asian 
traders  speculated  freely  on  what  was  to  happen  when  he 
died.  If  a son  was  to  rule  in  his  stead,  then  Afghanistan 
would  remain  as  much  closed  for  them  as  it  then  was,  and 
the  trade  of  Central  Asia  would  be  strangled  as  before  by 
the  prohibitive  tariffs  and  other  obstacles  to  it  which  were 
imposed  by  the  ruler  of  Kabul.  But  if  Afghanistan  was  to 
be  swept  away  as  an  independent  state,  and  the  Russian  and 
Indian  frontiers  coincide  either  on  the  Hindu  Kush  Moun- 
tains or  the  river  Oxus,  then  trade  would  increase,  railways 
and  good  roads  would  be  constructed,  and  oppression  by 
petty  officials  be  unknown.  The  Central  Asian  question 
is  therefore  one  of  great  interest  to  them  ; every  move  in 
the  game  is  watched  with  keenness,  and  the  relative 
strength  and  probable  intentions  of  the  two  great  powers, 
whom  they  regard  as  struggling  for  the  supremacy  of 
Asia,  are  freely  discussed  by  them. 

T 


274  A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR  [chap,  xiv 

It  is  naturally  difficult  for  an  Englishman  to  get  at  their 
real  opinions  as  to  the  respective  merits  of  British  and 
Russian  rule  ; but,  as  merchants,  I think  they  highly 
appreciate  the  benefits  which  are  conferred  by  an  adminis- 
tration which  makes  such  efforts  to  improve  the  com- 
munications of  the  country,  by  the  construction  of  rail- 
ways, roads,  and  telegraphs  ; which  adds  so  greatly  to 
the  production  of  the  country  by  the  cutting  of  irrigation 
canals ; and  which  encourages  trade  by  removing  all 
duties  that  are  not  absolutely  necessary,  as  the  British  do. 
They  hate  the  system  of  law  in  India,  though  they  believe 
in  the  justice  of  the  individual  officer,  and  I am  not 
altogether  sure  that  they  do  not  prefer  administrations 
where  the  decision  of  law  may  be  less  just,  but  will 
probably  be  less  costly,  and  will  certainly  be  more  rapid. 
But  they  consider  that,  on  the  whole,  their  trade  interests 
are  furthered  more  under  British  than  under  any  other 
rule. 

In  regard,  however,  to  the  comparative  strength  of  the 
two  rival  powers  of  Asia,  there  is  not  a doubt  that  they 
consider  the  Russian  more  powerful  than  the  British. 
Even  if  they  do  not  really  possess  the  greater  strength, 
the  Russians  succeed  better  in  producing  an  impression  of 
it  than  do  the  British.  Their  numbers  in  Central  Asia 
are  really  very  small,  but  they  are  much  more  numerous 
in  proportion  to  the  number  of  natives  than  are  the  British 
in  India.  Then,  again,  the  Russians,  when  they  strike, 
strike  very  heavily  ; and  when  they  advance  they  do  not 
go  back,  as  the  British  generally  find  some  plausible 
reason  for  doing.  Moreover,  they  have  subjugated  people 
who  were  easy  to  conquer,  and  the  general  result  of  all 
this,  and  of  the  rumours  of  untold  legions  of  soldiers 
stationed  in  Russia  proper,  is  to  impress  the  Oriental 
mind  with  the  idea  that  the  Russians  have  a greater 
strength  in  comparison  with  the  British  than  they  perhaps 
actually  have.  Some  English  writers  argue  that  the 
retirement  from  Afghanistan,  in  i88i,  has  had  no  effect 
upon  British  prestige.  That  retirement  may  have  been 
wise  on  financial  grounds,  but  that  it  did  affect  our  prestige 


THE  PRICE  OF  PRESTIGE 


275 


1891] 

in  Central  Asia  there  can,  I think,  be  little  doubt.  If  we 
had  gone  to  Kabul  and  Kandahar,  and  remained  there, 
our  prestige,  for  whatever  it  is  worth,  would  certainly 
have  stood  higher  than  it  does  now,  when  it  is  perfectly 
Avell  known  throughout  Asia  that  the  Amir  of  Kabul 
practically  closes  Afghanistan  to  every  Englishman.  To 
keep  up  this  prestige  may  not  have  been  worth  the  money 
which  it  would  have  been  necessary  to  expend  in  order  to  do 
so,  but  it  is  false  to  argue  that  the  prestige  is  just  as  high 
after  retirement  as  it  was  before.  We  cannot  save  up  our 
money  and  expect  the  same  results  as  if  we  had  expended 
it.  The  shrewd  native  observers  of  our  policy  in  Central 
Asia  see  perfectly  well  that  we  did  not  hold  Afghanistan, 
because  we  had  not  sufficient  men.  The  Russians,  chiefly 
because  they  have  only  had  very  unwarlike  people  to 
conquer,  have  never  yet  in  Central  Asia  been  put  in  the 
position  of  having  to  withdraw  after  a conquest.  Their 
prestige  in  consequence  stands  high. 

Among  other  interesting  features  of  my  stay  in  Kash- 
gar were  my  conversations  with  M.  Petrovsky.  He  was 
a man  with  a large  knowledge  of  the  world,  who  had 
lived  many  years  in  St.  Petersburg,  as  well  as  in  Russian 
Turkestan  and  Kashgar.  He  had  read  largely  on  sub- 
jects connected  with  India  and  Central  Asia  ; he  had 
a number  of  our  best  books  and  Parliamentary  Reports, 
and,  like  all  Russians,  he  talked  very  freely,  and,  on 
subjects  not  connected  with  local  politics,  in  which  of 
course  we  were  both  concerned,  very  openly.  Hence  I 
had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  ourselves  as  others  see  us. 

M.  Petrovsky  had  read  the  report  of  the  Sweating 
Committee,  our  Factory  Legislation  Reports,  accounts  in 
our  newspapers  of  the  strikes  which  continually  occur. 
All  this  had  produced  on  his  mind  the  impression  that  we 
were  in  a bad  way.  Forty  thousand  men  held  all  the 
riches,  and  the  rest  of  the  thirty-six  millions  were  just 
ground  down  to  the  last  penny.  This  was  his  idea  of  the 
state  of  things  in  England  ; and  he  compared  it  with  the 
condition  of  Russia.  In  Russia  there  was  no  great  gulf 
between  rich  and  poor.  Strikes,  which  he  looked  upon 


276  A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR  [chap,  xiv 

as  mild  revolutions,  were  unknown,  and  all  lived  together 
in  peaceful  contentment  under  the  Czar. 

When  I found  an  intelligent  Russian  taking  this  dis- 
torted view  of  the  condition  of  England,  and  holding  such 
optimistic  opinions  of  the  state  of  Russia,  it  often  struck 
me  that  perhaps  our  own  views  of  Russia  were  not  always 
so  true  as  they  might  be. 

But  it  was  in  his  criticisms  of  Indian  and  Central  Asian 
affairs  that  I found  M.  Petrovsky  most  interesting,  and, 
perhaps,  more  sound.  One  of  the  points  upon  which  he 
was  very  insistent  was  our  treatment  of  the  natives.  He 
thought  that  we  held  ourselves  too  much  aloof  from  them, 
and  that  we  were  too  cold  and  haughty.  Here,  I think, 
we  must  plead  guilty ; though  if  we  had  the  faculty  of 
getting  on  closer  terms  with  those  whom  we  rule,  in 
addition  to  our  other  good  qualities,  we  should  be  well- 
nigh  perfect.  When  Englishmen  are  working  hard  to- 
gether with  natives,  as  on  active  service  in  the  field,  for 
instance,  or  surveying  or  exploring,  the  two  parties 
become  firmly  attached  to  each  other.  But  ordinarily  an 
Englishman  finds  great  difficulty  in  “ letting  himself  out  ” 
to  strangers  of  any  description.  Very  few,  indeed,  have 
that  genial  manner  which  draws  people  together.  But  as 
soon  as  the  Englishman  in  India  gets  out  of  his  wretched 
office,  and  away  from  all  the  stiffness  of  cantonment 
regularity,  and  is  really  thrown  with  the  natives,  so  that 
he  can  see  them  and  they  him,  the  coldness  thaws,  and 
the  natives  see  that  in  reality  there  is  much  warmth  of 
heart  inside  the  cold  exterior.  Offices  and  regulations 
are  evils  which  apparently  are  necessary  for  effective 
administration  of  our  civilised  type,  but  if  we  shut  our- 
selves up  too  closely  behind  these  barriers,  and  lose 
touch  with  the  people,  then  the  Russian  consul’s  fears  as 
to  the  eventual  result  of  our  coldness  will  undoubtedly  be 
realised. 

Of  the  Chinese,  M.  Petrovsky  held  a very  poor  opinion. 
He  looked  upon  them  with  contempt,  and  had  hardly 
a good  word  to  say  for  them.  Their  administration  was 
corrupt,  the  army  badly  officered  and  badly  armed,  and 


SVEN  HEDIN 


277 


1891] 

the  empire  generally  honeycombed  with  secret  societies. 
M.  Petrovsky’s  practical  acquaintance . with  the  Chinese 
Empire  was,  however,  entirely  confined  to  Kashgar,  and 
he  had  not  been  a hundred  miles  into  the  country,  even 
into  this  outlying  dependency,  much  less  into  China 
itself.  I was  surprised,  too,  to  find  that  neither  he  nor 
any  of  his  staff  spoke  Chinese,  though  they  had  been 
many  years  in  Chinese  Turkestan,  and  that  they  were 
dependent  for  their  interpretation  upon  a Mussulman. 
Every  English  consul  in  China  can  speak  Chinese,  he  is 
compelled  to  pass  an  examination  in  it,  and  even  for 
a temporary  stay  in  Turkestan  I had  been  furnished  with 
a competent  English  interpreter  and  a Cantonese  clerk. 
In  this  important  particular  of  acquiring  a knowledge 
of  the  language  of  the  people  with  whom  we  had  to  deal, 
it  appeared,  therefore,  that  we  took  far  greater  pains  than 
the  Russians  did. 

This  is  not  the  only  case  in  which  the  Russians  show 
themselves  careless  in  learning  the  language  of  a country. 
In  Turkestan  it  is  the  exception,  and  not  the  rule,  for 
a Russian  officer  to  speak  the  language  of  the  people,  and 
of  six  Russian  officers  whom  I afterwards  met  on  the 
Pamirs,  only  two  could  speak  Turki,  though  they  were 
permanently  quartered  in  Turkestan.  Those  Russians 
who  speak  a foreign  language,  speak  it  very  well  indeed  ; 
but  contrary  to  the  general  belief  in  England,  the  majority 
of  even  Russian  officers  speak  Russian  only. 

Enlivened  by  these  conversations  with  Central  Asian 
merchants  and  with  the  Russian  consul  and  his  staff,  the 
winter  at  Kashgar  passed  more  quickly  than  it  might 
be  expected  to  do  in  so  remote  a corner  of  the  world.  We 
were  fortunate,  too,  in  having  several  visitors  from  Europe. 
The  first  of  these  was  M.  E.  Blanc,  a French  traveller, 
who,  having  spent  a few  months  in  Turkestan,  was  per- 
fectly willing  to  put  both  the  Russian  consul  and  myself 
right  upon  any  point  connected  with  Central  Asia.  The 
next  visit  was  from  the  young  Swedish  traveller.  Doctor 
Sven  Hedin,  who  impressed  me  as  being  of  the  true 
stamp  for  exploration — physically  robust,  genial,  even- 


278 


A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR  [chap,  xiv 


tempered,  cool  and  persevering.  He  only  paid  a hurried 
visit  to  Kashgar  from  Russian  Turkestan,  but  he  had 
already  made  a remarkable  journey  in  Persia,  and  has 
since  travelled  much  on  the  Pamirs,  in  Tibet,  and  Chinese 
Turkestan.  I envied  him  his  linguistic  abilities,  his 
knowledge  of  scientific  subjects,  obtained  under  the  best 
instructors  in  Europe,  and  his  artistic  accomplishments  ; 
he  seemed  to  possess  every  qualification  of  a scientific 
traveller,  added  to  the  quiet,  self-reliant  character  of  his 
Northern  ancestors. 

Later  on,  again,  we  had  a visit  from  M.  Dutreuil  de 
Rhins  and  his  companion  M.  Grenard,  who  did  me  the 
honour  of  staying  with  me  during  their  fortnight’s  halt  in 
Kashgar,  preparatory  to  their  three  years’  wandering  in 
Tibet,  which  ended  so  disastrously  in  the  murder  of  De 
Rhins  by  the  Tibetans.  M.  de  Rhins  was  a man  of  about 
forty-five,  who  had  served  the  principal  part  of  his  life  in 
the  French  navy  and  mercantile  marine.  He  had  already 
devoted  his  time  for  some  years  to  the  study  of  Tibet,  and 
was  most  thorough  and  methodical  in  all  his  arrange- 
ments, and  especially  in  his  astronomical  observations. 
We  had  many  long  conversations  together,  and  I remem- 
ber being  particularly  struck  with  a remark  of  his  regard- 
ing the  feeling  between  the  French  and  the  Germans. 
He  said  that  neither  he  nor  the  majority  of  Frenchmen 
desired  to  bring  on  a war  with  Germany,  but  that  if  the 
Germans  ever  brought  a war  on  he  would  at  once  enlist 
as  a private  soldier.  In  the  Franco-German  war  he  had 
served  as  an  officer. 

Having  secured  the  necessary  transport,  M.  de  Rhins, 
with  his  companion,  set  out  for  Tibet.  Macartney  and 
I rode  out  of  the  town  with  them,  and  we  parted  with 
many  assurances  of  goodwill,  and  after  making  arrange- 
ments to  meet  one  day  in  Paris.  I afterwards  received 
a couple  of  letters  from  M.  de  Rhins,  from  Tibet ; but 
he  never  returned  from  there.  He  was  attacked  by 
Tibetans,  his  arms  were  bound  to  his  body  with  ropes, 
and  he  was  thrown  into  a river  and  drowned  ; and  so 
died  one  of  the  most  hardy,  plucky,  and  persevering  of 


PERE  HENDRIKS 


279 


1891] 

explorers  whom  France  has  sent  out.  Three  years  after 
leaving  Kashgar  his  companion,  M.  Grenard,  returned 
to  Paris,  and  subsequently  published  the  results  of  the 
journey. 

These  were  our  visitors,  but  we  had  also  the  company 
of  a permanent  European  resident  in  Kashgar,  Pere 
Hendriks,  the  Dutch  missionary,  whom  I had  met  here 
in  1887,  and  who  still  remains  there.  Regularly  every 
day  he  used  to  come  round  for  a chat  and  walk  with  us. 
His  is  lonely  and  uphill  work,  and  he  often  appeared 
pressed  down  by  the  weight  of  obstacles  which  beset 
his  way.  But  his  enthusiasm  and  hopefulness  were  un- 
bounded, and  no  kinder-hearted  man  exists.  Many  of 
his  methods  of  conversion  used  to  surprise  me,  and  he 
certainly  was  not  viewed  with  favour  by  the  Russian 
authorities  ; but  he  was  a man  who  had  travelled  much 
and  studied  much,  and  he  was  ready  to  talk  in  any 
language,  from  Mongol  to  English,  and  upon  any  subject, 
from  the  geological  structures  of  the  Himalayas  to  his 
various  conflicts  with  the  Russian  authorities.  It  would 
astonish  people  at  home  to  see  in  what  poverty  this 
highly  educated  man  lived,  and  to  what  straits  he  put 
himself  in  the  exercise  of  his  calling.  Soon  after  we 
arrived  he  was  dining  with  us,  and  the  next  morning 
when  he  came  to  see  us  he  said  he  had  slept  much  better 
that  night.  I asked  him  how  it  was  he  had  done  so,  and 
he  replied  he  thought  it  must  be  from  having  had  some 
meat  to  eat  at  dinner  with  us.  Then  it  was  we  found 
out  that  he  lived  on  bread  and  vegetables  only,  for  he 
had  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve  rupees  a month  to  spend, 
and  lived  in  the  merest  hovel,  which  the  Chinese  had 
lent  him.  Of  course,  after  that  he  always  had  one,  and 
generally  two  meals  a day  with  us,  and  we  were  delighted 
at  the  opportunity  of  having  his  company. 

Beech  and  Lennard  returned  from  a trip  to  Maralbashi 
before  Christmas,  so  we  were  able,  with  them  and  with 
the  Russian  consul,  his  secretary,  his  son,  the  Cossack 
officer  of  the  escort,  and  Pere  Hendriks,  to  have  a good- 
sized  dinner-party  on  Christmas  Day.  Beech  had  a 


28o 


A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR  [chap,  xiv 


wonderful  tinned  plum-pudding,  which  went  off  with  an 
explosion  when  it  was  opened  on  the  table,  and  I had 
another,  which  a kind  friend  in  India  had  sent  up,  and 
which  arrived  on  Christmas  Eve;  so  we  were  able  to  show 
our  Russian  friends  what  “ le  plum-pudding  anglais,” 
which  they  had  heard  so  much  about  but  never  seen,  was 
really  like. 

Beech  soon  set  off  to  Russian  Turkestan,  and  was  most 
hospitably  entertained  there  by  the  governor-general  and 
every  other  official  whom  he  met,  and  came  back  in 
April  much  impressed  with  his  reception.  Then  he  and 
Lennard  departed  for  the  Pamirs  to  shoot  Ovis  poli, 
seventeen  head  of  which  magnificent  animals  they 
managed  to  bag. 

At  this  time  my  life  was  saddened  by  two  of  the  hardest 
blows  which  can  befall  a man.  Both  of  them  were  sudden 
and  unexpected,  and  in  that  far-away  land  letters  from 
my  friends  took  many  months  to  reach  me,  and  only 
came  at  intervals  of  weeks  together.  I longed  to  be  at 
home  again  once  more,  and  those  at  home  were  needing 
me  only  a little  less  than  I did  them.  But  three  more 
months  I had  still  to  remain  stationary  in  Kashgar,  the 
long  days  slowly  dragging  by  with  never- varying 
monotony. 

At  last,  at  the  beginning  of  July,  a man  appeared  one 
evening  at  our  house,  laden  with  a huge  bag.  This  was 
a post  from  India.  None  had  arrived  for  nearly  two 
months,  and  in  this  one  the  permission  to  return  to  India, 
which  I had  been  so  longing  for,  arrived  at  last.  Another 
pleasure,  too,  awaited  me.  An  official  letter  for  me  bore 
the  letters  C.I.E.  after  my  name.  I did  not  at  first  pay 
any  attention,  thinking  it  was  a mistake  on  the  part  of 
the  clerk.  But  in  a newspaper  I found  the  announce- 
ment that  I had  been  made  a Companion  of  the  Order 
of  the  Indian  Empire,  and  this  recognition  of  my  services 
could  not  possibly  have  come  at  a more  welcome  time. 

Permission  was  given  me  to  return  to  India  by  either 
Leh  or  Gilgit,  whichever  I preferred;  but  poor  Macartney 
was  to  stay  on  in  Kashgar,  and  he  is  still  there.  I chose 


1891] 


LIEUTENANT  DAVISON 


281 


to  return  by  the  Pamirs  and  Gilgit,  as  I had  already  twice 
traversed  the  desolate  route  across  the  Karakoram.  So 
I proceeded  to  hire  ponies  for  the  journey,  and  to  make 
other  necessary  arrangements. 

In  the  meanwhile,  news  arrived  from  Yarkand  that  an 
English  traveller  had  reached  Shahidula  from  Leh,  in 
an  almost  destitute  condition,  and  had  told  the  Chinese 
authorities  that  he  wanted  to  come  on  to  Kashgar  to  see 
me.  I asked  the  Chinese  to  give  him  any  assistance 
they  could.  This  they  did  ; and  shortly  after  a roughly 
pencilled  note  arrived  for  me,  saying  that  he  was  Lieu- 
tenant Davison,  of  the  Leinster  Regiment ; that  he  had 
come  from  Leh  with  the  intention  of  crossing  the  Mustagh 
Pass,  explored  by  me  in  1887,  but  he  had  been  stopped 
by  the  rivers  on  the  way  ; all  his  men  but  one  had  run 
away,  and  he  had  lost  nearly  all  his  ponies,  kit,  and 
money.  He  had,  therefore,  no  means  of  returning  to 
Leh,  and  was  compelled  to  come  on  to  me  for  assistance. 
He  travelled  up  to  Kashgar  with  astonishing  rapidity, 
and  wanted,  after  getting  information  and  assistance  from 
me,  to  start  off  back  again  the  next  day  to  tackle  the 
Mustagh  Pass  once  more.  He  was  exactly  like  a bull- 
dog— you  could  not  get  him  off  this  pass.  He  had  come 
out  to  cross  it,  and  it  was  hours  before  I could  convince 
him  that  it  was  impossible  to  do  so  before  September. 
But  he  had  already  had  experience  of  the  depth  and 
rapidity  of  the  rivers  on  the  way,  and  he  gradually  saw 
that  it  was  out  of  the  question. 

I then  asked  him  for  an  account  of  his  adventures  on 
the  way  to  Kashgar.  It  appeared  that  he  had  been  given 
two  months’  leave  from  his  regiment.  He  had  no  time 
to  get  a proper  map  of  the  route  he  would  have  to  follow ; 
but  he  pushed  on  as  hard  as  he  could  through  Kashmir 
and  Ladak  towards  the  Karakoram  Pass,  from  which 
point  he  imagined  that  he  would  merely  have  to  “turn 
to  the  left  ” and  he  would  see  a long  distinct  range  of 
snow-mountains,  with  a gap  in  them,  which  would  be 
the  Mustagh  Pass.  He  had  little  idea  of  the  pathless 
labyrinth  of  mountains  that  actually  shut  in  this  remote 


282 


A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR  [chap,  xiv 

pathi  Crossing  his  first  pass  between  Kashmir  and 
Ladak,  he  became  snow-blind,  and  had  to  be  carried 
across  on  a bed.  At  his  second  — beyond  Leh  — the 
Ladakis  whom  he  had  engaged  struck  work,  and  said 
the  pass  would  not  be  open  for  ponies  for  weeks  yet. 
But  Davison,  by  measures  more  severe  than  diplomatic, 
managed  to  get  both  them  and  his  ponies  over.  Then 
came  the  Karakoram  Pass  ; and  the  only  way  to  traverse 
this  in  the  month  of  May,  when  the  snow  on  it  was  all 
soft  and  yielding,  was  by  tediously  laying  down  felts  and 
blankets  in  front  of  the  ponies  for  them  to  walk  over, 
picking  them  up  as  the  ponies  had  passed  over  them, 
and  again  laying  them  down  in  front— and  so  on  for  mile 
upon  mile.  Those  who  have  themselves  had  experience 
of  trudging  through  soft  snow  at  an  elevation  of  eighteen 
thousand  feet,  can  best  realise  what  this  must  have  been 
to  a man  who  had  come  straight  up  from  the  plains  of 
India,  and  who  had  never  been  on  a snow-mountain  in 
his  life  before.  Now  came  the  crisis  of  the  journey. 
Davison  had  no  map  to  show  him  the  way  to  the  Mustagh 
Pass,  and,  still  worse,  he  had  no  guide.  He  had  not 
been  able  to  find  a single  man  who  had  been  a yard  off 
the  beaten  track  to  Yarkand  ; but  he  had  a rough  map 
which  gave  him  the  relative  position  of  the  Mustagh  and 
Karakoram  Passes ; so  he  plotted  those  two  points  on  a 
piece  of  paper,  and  then  started  a prismatic  compass 
survey,  which  in  future  he  plotted  out  regularly  on  the 
same  piece  of  paper,  and  by  these  means  he  hoped  to  be 
able  to  make  out  his  way  to  the  goal  he  had  before  him. 
With  this  intention,  he  followed  down  the  stream  which 
flows  from  the  Karakoram  Pass  past  Aktagh.  But  the 
further  he  advanced  the  more  rugged  and  impracticable 
became  the  mountains  which  bounded  in  the  valley  in  the 
direction  of  the  Mustagh  Pass.  He  could  see  nothing 
of  that  great  snowy  range  which  he  had  expected  to  find 
standing  up  conspicuous  and  distinct  from  all  the  rest, 
and  with  the  Mustagh  Pass  forming  a landmark  which 
he  could  make  out  from  any  distance,  and  steer  for  with- 
out difficulty.  Instead  of  this,  he  found  himself  shut  in 


iSgi]  A PLUCKY  SUBALTERN  283 

by  rocky,  precipitous  mountains,  which  forbade  his 
following  any  other  route  but  that  which  led  down  the 
valley  he  was  in.  He  had  lost  three  ponies  on  the  Kara- 
koram Pass.  Two  of  his  men  now  deserted  with  most 
of  his  supplies.  But  Davison  still  pushed  on,  in  spite 
of  the  danger  of  doing  so  with  his  scanty  stock  of  food, 
till  — very  fortunately  for  him  — he  was  pulled  up  on 
account  of  the  stream  having  increased  so  much  in  depth 
that  it  had  become  unfordable.  This  was  at  Khoja 
Mohammed  gorge,  about  two  marches  below  Chiragh 
Saldi.  Davison  tried  to  swim  the  river  with  a rope  tied 
round  his  waist,  but  the  stream  was  too  strong  for  him. 
Finding  it  impossible  to  get  down  the  valley  at  the  time 
of  year  when  the  snows  were  melting  and  the  rivers  in 
flood,  he  reluctantly  retraced  his  steps  for  a short  distance 
and  then  turned  north,  crossed  a pass  (the  Kokalang, 
if  I remember  rightly)  which  had  not  previously  been 
explored,  and  then,  finding  ahead  of  him  nothing  but 
snowfields  and  impracticable-looking  mountains  in  the 
direction  of  Yarkand,  he  made  his  way  back  again  to 
the  valley  of  the  Yarkand  (Raskam)  River,  with  the 
intention  of  making  for  Shahidula,  the  nearest  point  at 
which  he  could  hope  to  get  supplies.  He  was  now  at 
the  last  extremity  ; he  had  but  one  man,  one  pony,  and 
supplies  for  a day  or  two.  He  then  fell  sick,  and  could 
not  move,  and  in  this  plight  he  had  to  send  away  his 
sole  remaining  servant  to  find  Shahidula,  and  bring  some 
supplies  and  help  from  that  place.  As  it  turned  out,  he 
was  nearer  Shahidula  than  he  thought.  His  servant 
reached  there  the  same  day,  and  on  the  following  returned 
with  food  and  a pony.  Davison’s  difficulties  were  then 
over,  and,  after  resting  a few  days  at  Shahidula  to  regain 
his  strength,  he  made  his  way  rapidly  to  Kashgar.  The 
ground  that  Davison  covered  had  been  previously  ex- 
plored by  both  Russians  and  English,  but  Davison  had 
not  the  benefit  of  their  experience  ; and  the  remarkable 
thing  about  his  journey  was  that  he  accomplished  it  with- 
out any  previous  experience  either  of  mountaineering  or 
of  ordinary  travelling.  A young  subaltern,  of  only  two 


284  A WINTER  IN  KASHGAR  [chap,  xiv 

years’  service,  he  set  out  from  the  plains  of  Punjab,  and 
by  sheer  pluck  found  his  way,  in  the  worst  season  of  the 
year  for  travelling,  to  the  plains  of  Turkestan,  and  this  is 
a feat  of  which  any  one  might  feel  proud. 

I persuaded  Davison  to  come  back  with  me  to  India  by 
the  Pamirs,  and  our  preparations  for  the  journey  were 
rapidly  made.  I called  on  all  the  Chinese  officials,  and 
received  farewell  dinners  from  them,  and  especially  from 
old  General  Wang  much  hospitality.  But  it  was  a dis- 
appointment to  me  that  I had  to  leave  Kashgar  without 
having  the  pleasure  of  saying  good-bye  to  M.  Petrovsky, 
the  Russian  consul.  His  dignity  had  been  hurt  because 
I took  Davison  to  call  upon  him  in  the  afternoon.  He 
had  refused  to  receive  us,  and  afterwards  informed 
Macartney  that  first  calls  ought  always  to  be  made  in 
the  middle  of  the  day.  I did  my  best  to  appease  him  by 
explaining  by  letter  that  we  had  only  intended  to  do  him 
a civility;  that  it  was  our  custom  to  call  in  the  afternoon  ; 
and  that  at  Peking  I had  myself  called  upon  his  own 
official  superior,  the  Russian  minister,  in  the  afternoon, 
and  been  called  on  in  return  by  him.  But  M.  Petrovsky 
replied  that  he  was  only  concerned  with  Kashgar,  and 
that  at  Kashgar  the  custom  was  to  call  in  the  middle  of 
the  day. 

I regretted  this  misunderstanding  with  M.  Petrovsky  all 
the  more  because  I felt  myself  indebted  to  him  for  many 
civilities  during  my  stay  in  Kashgar.  He  had  been  most 
obliging  in  forwarding  our  letters  through  his  couriers  to 
Russian  Turkestan  ; he  had  lent  us  numbers  of  books  to 
read  ; and  in  many  other  ways  had  done  us  kindnesses  for 
which  I should  have  wished  to  show  my  gratitude.  I had, 
however,  the  satisfaction  of  parting  on  very  friendly  terms 
with  M.  Putsch,  the  secretary,  and  receiving  from  him  a 
handsome  present  as  a token  of  his  regard. 


CHAPTER  XV 


KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 


“ And  o’er  the  aerial  mountains  which  pour  down 
Indus  and  Oxus  from  their  icy  caves, 

In  joy  and  exultation  held  his  way  ; 

Till  in  the  vale  of  Cashmere,  far  within 
Its  loneliest  dell,  where  odorous  plants  entwine 
Beneath  the  hollow  rocks  a natural  bower. 
Beside  a sparkling;  rivulet  he  stretched 
His  lang-uid  limbs.” — Shelley. 


E left  Kashgar  on  July  22,  1891,  Macartney  riding 


vv  out  a couple  of  marches  with  us,  and  then  return- 
ing to  Yarkand.  We  had  been  together  for  a year  now, 
and  the  greater  part  of  the  time  by  ourselves.  It  does 
not  always  follow  that  two  men  who  have  never  seen  each 
other  in  their  lives  before  can  get  on  together  for  a year 
at  a stretch  without  a break,  and  with  scarcely  a change 
of  society.  I felt  myself  particularly  fortunate,  therefore, 
in  having  for  a companion  a man  who  was  not  only  a first- 
rate  Chinese  scholar,  and  extremely  tactful  in  dealing  with 
the  Chinese,  but  who  was  also  even-tempered,  and  willing 
to  give  and  take,  as  travellers  have  to  be.  Mr.  Macartney 
has  since  that  time  done  very  valuable  service  in  arranging 
with  the  Chinese  authorities  for  the  release  of  slaves  from 
states  under  the  protection  of  the  Government  of  India, 
who  have  been  sold  into  Chinese  territory.  Many  such 
have  now  been  released,  and  have  returned  to  their  homes 
in  Gilgit,  Baltistan,  and  Chitral,  and  a good  work  has 
been  successfully  accomplished. 

It  was  with  little  regret  that  I now  turned  my  back  on 
the  plains  of  Turkestan,  and  ascended  the  mountains 
once  more  on  my  way  towards  India.  Chinese  Turkestan 
is  an  interesting  country  to  visit,  but  a dreary  place  to 


285 


286 


KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 


[chap.  XV 


live  in.  Even  the  air  is  oppressive ; it  is  always 
“murky.”  For  a few  days  one  does  not  notice  it  par- 
ticularly. But  when  week  after  week  goes  by  and  the 
clear  sky  is  never  seen,  then  a feeling  of  oppression 
comes  on.  The  air  is  always  filled  with  impalpable  dust 
from  the  desert,  and  Chinese  Turkestan  is  for  ever 
shrouded  in  sand.  And  this  not  only  leaves  its  mark 
upon  the  mountains,  depositing  on  them  layers  of  light 
friable  soil,  but  also  makes  its  impression  upon  the 
people  of  the  country.  To  a traveller  from  the  direction 
of  China,  who  has  become  accustomed  to  the  insolence 
of  Chinese  mobs,  these  submissive,  spiritless  Turkis 
appear  a genial,  hospitable  people.  And,  similarly, 
when  a traveller  enters  the  country  from  the  inhospitable 
regions  over  which  the  route  by  the  Karakoram  Pass 
leads,  he  is  so  thankful  to  be  in  an  inhabited,  cultivated 
country  again,  that  everything  to  him  seems  rose- 
coloured.  But  when  he  has  been  resident  for  some 
months  among  the  people,  he  finds  them  heavy  and 
uninteresting.  In  only  one  respect  do  they  show  any 
enterprise,  and  that  is  in  making  pilgrimages  to  Mecca ; 
hundreds  of  them  do  this,  whole  families  of  them,  fathers, 
mothers,  and  children  in  arms,  will  set  off  across  those 
bleak  passes,  over  the  Himalayas,  through  all  the  heat 
of  India,  and  over  the  sea  to  Mecca.  Numbers  perish 
on  the  journey,  but  still,  year  after  year,  others  follow 
in  their  track  ; and  that  so  apathetic  a people  should  go 
to  such  extremities,  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
instances  I know  of  the  stirring  influence  of  religion. 

The  heat  in  the  plains  had  now  become  very  consider- 
able, daily  registering  one  hundred  and  two  or  one 
hundred  and  three  degrees  Fahrenheit,  so  we  were  glad 
to  leave  them  behind,  and  find  the  road  gradually  rising 
towards  the  great  buttress  range  of  the  Pamirs,  which 
stood  before  us  like  a wall.  We  headed  straight  towards 
that  glorious  mountain,  the  Mustagh-ata,  which  rose 
twenty-one  thousand  feet  above  the  plains  on  which  we 
stood,  and,  three  days’  march  from  Kashgar,  we  entered 
the  Gez  defile,  the  road  up  which  was  rough  and  difficult 


A LARGE  SHALLOW  LAKE 


287 


1891] 

and  almost  impracticable  for  ponies.  When  the  river, 
which  runs  through  the  defile,  is  low,  ponies  can  be  led 
up  the  bed  ; but  now,  in  the  summer-time,  when  it  is  in 
full  flood,  they  have  to  be  taken  two  and  three  thousand 
feet  higher  up,  over  a spur,  then  down  again  for  a mile 
or  two,  along  the  valley  bottom  again,  then  once  more 
over  a hill,  and  so  on  for  the  whole  way  up.  On  the 
hillside  there  was  seldom  any  path,  and  the  ponies  had 
to  scramble  about  amongst  the  rocks  and  boulders,  and 
up  and  down  places  not  much  less  steep  than  the  roof 
of  a house.  But,  once  through  this  defile,  we  found 
ourselves  on  an  open  plain,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
mountains,  but  itself  quite  flat.  To  the  left,  as  we 
emerged  from  the  defile,  was  a large  lake.  This  was 
not  marked  on  any  of  my  maps,  though  the  district 
had  been  well  surveyed,  and  I was  further  puzzled  to 
see  quantities  of  sand-drift  covering  the  lower  parts  of 
the  low,  rounded  mountains  on  the  opposite  bank.  As 
the  water  of  the  lake  came  right  up  to  the  mountain-side, 
it  was  difficult  to  see  where  the  sand  could  come  from  ; 
but  I found  that  the  lake  was  only  a few  feet  deep,  and 
when  the  melting  of  the  snows  has  finished,  it  dwindles 
to  a mere  marsh,  exposing,  at  the  same  time,  large 
deposits  of  sand,  which  the  wind  blows  on  to  the  moun- 
tain-sides. This  lake  was  an  extension  of  the  Bulun-kul. 

The  scenery  now  changed  completely.  Up  the  course 
of  the  Gez  River,  the  valleys  had  all  been  deep  and 
narrow,  with  precipitous  sides,  and  at  the  head  of  the 
defile,  on  the  left-hand  side,  the  great  mountain  mass 
of  the  Mustagh-ata  looked  as  if  it  had  but  just  been 
rudely  thrust  upward,  and  the  shattered  sides  of  the 
mountain  were  exposed  fresh  from  the  upheaval.  But 
beyond  the  defile,  looking  toward  the  Pamirs,  the  moun- 
tains were  all  rounded,  the  main  valleys  were  flat  open 
plains,  and  even  the  side  valleys  were  wide  and  shallow. 
No  trees  grew  anywhere.  The  mountain-sides  were 
brown,  and  only  covered  with  coarse  wormwood,  but 
the  valley  bottom  had  a luxuriant  growth  of  grass, 
which  at  this  time  of  year  was  very  rich  and  succulent. 


288  KASHGAR  TO  INDIA  [chap,  xv 

At  Lake  Bulun-kul,  Lieutenant  Davison  parted  from 
me,  and  travelled  westward  to  the  Alichur  Pamir,  by 
the  Ak-berdi  Pass,  which  he  was,  I believe,  the  first 
European  to  cross.  It  is  an  easy  one,  as  most  of  the 
passes  on  the  Pamirs  are,  and  leads  down  to  the 
Rang-kul.  Meanwhile  I travelled  on  to  the  Little 
Kara-kul,  a lake  with  absolutely  unique  surroundings. 
No  other  lake  in  the  world  can  boast  of  two  peaks 
of  over  twenty-five  thousand  feet  each  rising  from  its 
very  shores.  Here,  on  the  edge  of  the  Roof  of  the 
World,  was  this  lovely  sheet  of  clear  blue  water,  with 
its  grassy  banks,  and  the  two  great  mountains  standing 
like  sentinels  above  its  shores.  These  mountain  peaks 
are  the  Mustagh-ata  and  another,  which  Mr.  Ney  Elias, 
who  discovered  it,  named  Mount  Dufferin.  They  rise 
not  as  rugged  pinnacles,  but  in  huge  masses,  and  so 
gradually  and  evenly  that  the  ascent  seems  perfectly 
easy,  and  entices  travellers  to  scale  the  icy  summits, 
and  from  there  look  out  over  the  Roof  of  the  World, 
far  away  to  the  Himalayas,  and  round  over  the  vast 
plains  of  Turkestan  to  the  Celestial  Mountains,  which 
divide  Russia  from  China.  No  other  mountain  that 
I have  seen  seems  easier  of  access,  and  from  no  other 
could  such  an  extended  view  be  obtained  ; Russia,  India, 
and  China,  each  presses  round  its  base. 

Near  the  Kara-kul  there  were  several  encampments  of 
Kirghiz,  with  their  numerous  flocks  feeding  on  the  rich 
pasturage  round  the  lake.  Thence  I crossed  by  the  easy 
Ulugh  Rabat  Pass  into  the  wide  Tagarma  plain,  and 
passed  on  to  Tashkurgan,  which  I now  visited  for  the 
third  time.  After  halting  there  for  a day  to  collect 
supplies,  I left  on  August  5,  and  marched  up  the  Tagh- 
dum-bash  Pamir,  intending  to  proceed  to  Gilgit  by  the 
Baroghil  or  some  other  pass  leading  into  Chitral  terri- 
tory. A considerable  amount  of  rain  fell  at  this  time 
of  year,  and  places  which  two  years  before  I had  seen 
dried  up  and  parched  by  the  November  frosts,  were  now 
fresh  with  the  summer  green,  and  grass  was  plentiful. 

All  this  time  reports  kept  coming  in  that  a small 


COLONEL  YONOFF 


289 


1891] 

Russian  force  had  entered  the  Pamirs,  and  proclaimed 
them  Russian  territory,  and  at  the  head  of  the  Tagh-dum- 
bash  Pamir  I found  several  families  of  Kirghiz  who  had 
fled  before  the  Russians.  I crossed  the  Wakhijrui  Pass, 
fifteen  thousand  six  hundred  feet,  an  easy  pass,  with  a 
small  lake  on  the  summit,  and  the  surface  of  the  ground 
carpeted  with  gentians,  edelweiss,  and  yellow  poppies.  I 
then  descended  into  the  basin  of  the  river  Oxus,  and 
passed  along  the  Pamir-i-Wakhan,  uninhabited  at  this 
season,  but  tenanted  in  the  winter  by  Wakhis,  to  Bozai- 
Gumbaz,  which  I reached  on  August  10.  So  much  has 
since  been  written  about  this  place,  that  people  might 
easily  imagine  it  to  be  a town  or  large  village,  whereas 
the  only  building  on  the  spot  is  the  tomb  of  a murdered 
Kirghiz  chieftain,  and  the  only  inhabitants  occasional 
nomadic  Wakhis.  Here  I found  a party  of  ten  Cossacks 
encamped.  They  formed  a guard  over  the  stores  which 
had  been  left  there  by  the  main  party  of  Russians,  which 
had  gone  on  to  reconnoitre  in  the  direction  of  the 
Baroghil  Pass.  There  was  no  officer  with  this  party  of 
Cossacks  at  Bozai-Gumbaz,  so  I halted  there  till  the 
officers  returned,  as  I was  anxious  to  meet  them. 
Among  the  Cossacks  of  this  party  I recognised  one 
who  had  been  with  Captain  Grombtchevsky  in  1889, 
and  was  able  to  show  him  a photograph  of  our  combined 
parties  which  the  Russian  officer  had  taken,  and  of  which 
he  had  sent  me  a copy  from  St.  Petersburg,  together 
with  a very  kind  invitation  to  visit  him  in  Margillan. 

On  August  13  the  reconnoitring  party  returned.  As 
I looked  out  of  the  door  of  my  tent,  I saw  some  twenty 
Cossacks  with  six  officers  riding  by,  and  the  Russian  flag 
carried  in  front.  I sent  out  a servant  with  my  card  and 
invitation  to  the  officers  to  come  in  and  have  some 
refreshments.  Some  of  them  came  in,  and  the  chief 
officer  was  introduced  to  me  as  Colonel  Yonoff.  He 
and  all  of  them  were  dressed  in  loose  “khaki”  blouses, 
with  baggy  pantaloons  and  high  boots,  and  they  wore 
the  ordinary  peaked  Russian  cap,  covered  with  white 
cloth.  Colonel  Yonoff  also  wore  on  his  breast  a white 


u 


KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 


2 go 


[chap.  XV 


enamel  Maltese  cross,  which  I recognised  as  the  Cross  of 
St.  George,  the  most-coveted  Russian  decoration,  and  I at 
once  congratulated  him  upon  holding  so  distinguished  an 
order.  Colonel  Yonoff  was  a modest,  quiet-mannered  man, 
of  a totally  different  stamp  from  Captain  Grombtchev- 
sky.  He  had  less  of  the  bonhomie  of  the  latter,  and 
talked  little ; but  he  was  evidently  respected  by  his 
officers,  and  they  told  me  he  had  greatly  distinguished 
himself  in  the  Khivan  campaign.  I gave  the  Russian 
officers  some  tea  and  Russian  wine,  Avhich  M.  Lutsch, 
the  consul’s  secretary,  had  very  kindly  procured  for  me 
from  Margillan  ; and  I then  told  Colonel  Yonoff  that 
reports  had  reached  me  that  he  was  proclaiming  to  the 
Kirghiz  that  the  Pamirs  were  Russian  territory,  and 
asked  him  if  this  was  the  case.  He  said  it  was  so,  and 
he  showed  me  a map  with  the  boundary  claimed  by 
the  Russians  coloured  on  it.  This  boundary  included 
the  whole  of  the  Pamirs  except  the  Tagh-dum-bash,  and 
extended  as  far  down  as  the  watershed  of  the  Hindu- 
Kush  by  the  Khora  Bhort  Pass. 

The  Russian  officers  stayed  with  me  for  about  an  hour, 
and  then  went  off  to  make  their  own  camp  arrangements, 
asking  me,  however,  to  come  and  dine  with  them  that 
evening.  When  I went  round  to  them,  I found  that  they 
were  doubled  up  in  very  small  tents.  Three  of  them 
lived  in  a tent  which  was  not  high  enough  to  stand 
upright  in,  and  at  dinner  there  was  just  room  for  seven 
of  us  to  squat  on  the  ground,  with  a tablecloth  spread  in 
the  middle — three  officers  on  each  side,  and  one  at  the 
head.  No  wonder  these  Russians  thought  my  camp 
arrangements  luxurious.  I had  what  is  known  as  a field- 
officer’s  Kabul  tent,  about  eight  feet  in  length,  breadth, 
and  height,  and  with  a bathroom  and  double  fly.  I had, 
too,  a bed,  table,  and  chair.  Such  luxury  filled  the 
Russians  with  astonishment ; but  they  were  merely 
making  a rapid  raid,  while  I had  set  out  from  India  to 
travel  for  more  than  a year.  The  whole  tent  and  equip- 
ment of  camp  furniture  was  not  a pony-load,  and  when 
there  is  no  necessity  to  stint  transport,  as  there  is  not  on 


RUSSIAN  HOSPITALITY 


1891] 


291 


the  Pamirs,  for  a small  party,  it  is  much  better  to  take 
a whole  pony-load,  and  make  one’s  self  comfortable,  than 
to  take  half  a load  and  be  miserable.  When  there  is  any 
necessity  for  it,  British  officers  go  without  any  tent  at  all ; 
but  when  they  can  make  themselves  comfortable,  as  a 
rule  they  do. 

We  squeezed  into  the  little  tent,  and  proceedings  com- 
menced with  drinking  the  inevitable  glass  of  vodka. 
Then  followed  a dinner,  which  for  its  excellence  as- 
tonished me  quite  as  much  as  my  camp  arrangements 
had  astonished  the  Russians.  Russians  always  seem  to 
be  able  to  produce  soups  and  stews  of  a good  wholesome, 
satisfying  nature,  such  as  native  servants  from  India 
never  can  imitate.  The  Russians  had  vegetables,  too— 
a luxury  to  me — and  sauces  and  relishes,  and,  besides 
vodka,  two  different  kinds  of  wine  and  brandy.  Though 
only  one  of  the  six  Russians  spoke  French,  they  were  all 
very  hospitable  and  cordial,  and  at  the  conclusion  of 
dinner  Colonel  Yonoff  proposed  the  health  of  Queen 
Victoria,  while  I proposed  that  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia. 

There  were,  besides  Colonel  Yonoff,  a staff-officer  from 
St.  Petersburg,  two  Cossack  officers,  a doctor,  and 
a surveyor  named  Benderski,  who  had  been  to  Kabul 
with  the  Russian  mission  of  1878,  and  had  also  surveyed 
the  Pamirs  with  Ivanoff’s  expedition  of  1883.  Colonel 
Yonoff  now  showed  me  the  survey  which  his  party  had 
just  made,  and  the  route  they  had  followed  across  the 
Hindu  Kush.  They  had  proceeded  from  Bozai-Gumbaz 
to  the  Khora  Bhort  Pass  (also  called  Baikra  and  Tash- 
kupruk,  and  now  by  the  Russians  the  “ Yonoff”).  They 
had  crossed  this,  and  then  turned  westward  up  the  head- 
waters of  the  Ashkuman  or  Karumbar  River,  and  then 
across  the  lower  watershed  into  the  valley  of  the  Yarkhun 
River,  and  from  there  up  to  the  Darkot  Pass,  the  summit 
of  which  they  reached,  and  looked  down  into  the  valley 
of  Yasin.  Since  crossing  the  Khora  Bhort  they  were  on 
the  Indian  side  of  the  watershed,  and  in  territory  gener- 
ally considered  to  belong  to  Chitral.  From  the  Darkot 
Pass  they  turned  north  again,  and  crossed  the  Baroghil 


292 


KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 


[chap.  XV 


Pass,  or  rather  another  depression  in  the  range  within 
a few  miles  of  it,  and,  passing  by  the  Afghan  post  of 
Sarhad,  returned  up  the  valley  of  the  Panja  to  Bozai- 
Gumbaz.  The  Cossacks  were  all  mounted,  and  they  had 
some  difficulty  in  getting  over  the  Khora  Bhort  Pass, 
but  they  seemed  well  satisfied  with  the  results  of  their 
trip.  They  imagined,  however,  that  the  existence  of  the 
Khora  Bhort  Pass  was  unknown  to  the  English,  and 
were  astonished  when  I showed  them  a passage  in  the 
French  traveller  Capus’s  book  with  this  pass  mentioned 
in  it.  It  had,  too,  as  a matter  of  fact,  been  thoroughly 
surveyed  by  the  English  engineer  officer.  Captain  Tyler. 

We  spent  a long  evening  together,  squatting  on  the 
floor  of  the  little  tent,  and  talking  very  freely  upon  sub- 
jects of  mutual  interest.  The  Russian  officers  were  very 
anxious  to  know  how  near  on  the  other  side  of  the  range 
supplies  could  be  obtained,  for  along  the  four  hundred 
miles  up  to  it  from  their  starting-point  at  Osh,  nothing  in 
the  way  of  grain  is  procurable.  They  said,  too,  that  they 
wondered  at  our  stationing  a political  agent  in  Gilgit,  and 
making  that  place  an  important  military  outpost,  while 
we  had  no  representative  in  Chitral,  and  appeared  to  pay 
no  attention  to  it.  At  that  time,  though  British  officers 
had  visited  Chitral  on  temporary  missions,  we  had  no 
agent  permanently  stationed  there,  and,  curiously  enough, 
I was  myself,  two  years  later,  appointed  the  first  per- 
manent agent  in  that  important  place. 

It  was  not  till  after  midnight  that  the  dinner  broke  up, 
and  Colonel  Yonoff  and  all  the  officers  escorted  me  back 
to  my  tent,  half  a mile  off,  parting  with  many  protesta- 
tions of  friendship.  On  the  next  morning  they  left  for 
the  Alichur  Pamir.  I waited  on  for  a few  days,  expect- 
ing Davison  to  rejoin  me,  and  we  would  then  have  pro- 
ceeded together  to  Gilgit. 

But  three  nights  later,  as  I was  getting  into  bed,  I 
heard  the  clatter  of  horses’  hoofs  on  the  stones  outside 
my  tent,  and,  on  looking  out,  saw,  in  the  bright  moon- 
light, about  thirty  mounted  Cossacks  drawn  up  in  line, 
with  the  Russian  flag  in  the  centre.  I hastily  put  on 


A POLITICAL  INCIDENT 


293 


1891] 

a great-coat,  and  sent  my  servant  to  ask  the  officer  in 
command  if  he  would  come  in.  Two  or  three  officers 
dismounted,  and  I found  they  were  Colonel  Yonoff  and 
the  same  officers  from  whom  I had  parted  three  nights 
before.  Colonel  Yonoff  said  he  had  something  very  dis- 
agreeable to  say  to  me.  He  then  courteously  and  civilly, 
and  with  many  apologies,  informed  me  that  he  had  that 
morning,  while  at  Lake  Victoria,  on  the  Great  Pamir, 
received  a despatch  from  his  Government,  in  which  he 
was  instructed  to  escort  me  from  Russian  territory  back 
to  Chinese  territory.  He  said  he  very  much  disliked 
having  to  perform  such  a duty,  for  I was  a military  officer 
and  he  was  a military  officer,  and  this  was  a duty  usually 
performed  by  police  officials ; we  had,  moreover,  met 
before  on  very  friendly  terms,  and  he  had  been  in  hopes 
that  I should  have  already  left  Bozai-Gumbaz,  and  saved 
him  from  the  necessity  of  carrying  it  out. 

I told  him  that  I did  not  consider  I was  on  Russian 
territory  at  all,  and  that,  in  any  case,  I was  returning 
to  India  ; but  Colonel  Yonoff  replied  that  by  his  maps 
Bozai-Gumbaz  was  included  in  the  Russian  territory,  and 
his  orders  were  to  escort  me  back  to  Chinese,  and  not 
British  territory.  I then  asked  him  what  he  would  do  if 
I refused  to  go,  and  he  said  he  should,  in  that  case,  have 
to  use  force.  There  was,  of  course,  no  answering  this 
argument,  for  he  had  thirty  Cossacks,  while  I had  not 
a single  soldier  with  me.  I therefore  informed  him  that 
I should  have,  in  these  circumstances,  to  submit  to  any 
terms  he  might  wish  to  impose,  but  I should  do  so  under 
protest,  and  should  report  the  whole  matter  to  my  Govern- 
ment. Beyond  that  I had,  therefore,  nothing  further  to 
say. 

Colonel  Yonoff  again  repeated  his  regrets  at  having  to 
treat  me  as  he  had  been  instructed  to  do,  and  said  that 
he  would  so  far  modify  his  action  as  to  allow  me  to 
proceed  by  myself  instead  of  escorting  me.  He  then 
drew  up,  in  French,  a form  of  agreement,  in  which  it  was 
said  that,  acting  under  the  instruction  of  the  Russian 
Government,  he  was  to  cause  me  to  leave  Russian  terri- 


294 


KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 


[chap.  XV 


tory,  and  that  I agreed,  under  protest,  to  do  this,  and 
undertook  to  proceed  to  Chinese  territory  by  the  Wakhijrui 
Pass,  and  not  to  return  by  any  of  a number  of  passes 
which  he  named,  and  which  included  every  known  pass 
across  the  watershed  of  the  Pamirs  from  the  vicinity  of 
the  Alai  as  far  down  as  the  Baroghil  Pass.  Having 
signed  this  agreement,  and  made  a copy  of  it,  I told 
Colonel  Yonoff  that  I hoped  he  would  consider  that 
business  over,  and  return  to  our  former  friendly  relations, 
and  have  supper  with  me.  His  baggage  was  far  behind, 
and  it  was  now  nearly  midnight.  We  accordingly  all 
sat  down  to  a rough  supper ; and  the  Russian  officers 
afterwards  went  off  to  their  own  encampment  and  left  me 
alone  once  more.  Next  morning  I packed  up  my  things 
and  started  for  the  Wakhijrui  Pass.  As  I rode  past  the 
Russians,  Colonel  Yonoff  and  his  companions  came  out 
to  wish  me  good-bye,  and  express  their  sincerest  regrets 
at  having  to  treat  a friend  as  they  had  been  obliged  to 
treat  me.  They  presented  me  with  a haunch  of  Ovis  poli^ 
from  an  animal  they  had  shot  on  the  previous  day,  and 
we  parted  on  as  friendly  terms  as  were  possible  in  the 
circumstances. 

I,  of  course,  at  once  reported  the  whole  matter  to  my 
Government,  and  thirteen  days  after  the  incident  had 
occurred,  far  away  on  the  Pamirs  though  it  was,  the 
British  Ambassador  at  St.  Petersburg  had  made  a protest 
to  the  Russian  Government,  the  upshot  of  which  was 
that  the  Russian  Ambassador  in  London  apologised  to 
Lord  Salisbury  for  the  illegal  action  of  Colonel  Yonoff, 
and  the  Russian  Government  has  now  declared,  in  the 
Pamir  Agreement,  that  Bozai-Gumbaz,  the  place  which 
Colonel  Yonoff  had  stated  to  be  Russian  territory,  is 
beyond  the  sphere  of  Russian  influence. 

Meanwhile  I recrossed  the  Wakhijrui  Pass,  and  en- 
camped for  some  weeks  on  the  far  side  of  it,  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Kukturuk  valley.  This  is  immediately  opposite 
the  Kilik  Pass  into  Hunza,  and  as  these  people  of  Hunza 
were  showing  signs  of  hostility  to  us,  which  a few  months 
later  resulted  in  the  sending  of  an  expedition  against 


DAVISON’S  EXPERIENCES 


295 


1S91] 

them  ; and  as,  moreover,  they  committed  a raid  on  a 
Kirghiz  encampment  only  ten  miles  below  the  spot  where 
I was  myself  encamped,  I had  to  take  turns  with  my 
Pathan  servants  to  keep  watch  during  the  night,  till  an 
escort  under  Lieutenant  J.  M.  Stewart  arrived  from  Gilgit 
for  my  protection.  For  six  weeks  I remained  at  this 
place,  situated  over  fifteen  thousand  feet  above  sea-level. 
Even  at  the  end  of  August  there  were  sharp  frosts  at 
night,  and  the  water  in  my  basin  would  be  coated  over 
with  ice  in  the  morning,  and  by  the  end  of  September  the 
thermometer  went  down  to  zero  Fahrenheit.  The  patches 
of  grass,  so  green  and  fresh  in  the  summer  months, 
now  died  down  and  withered,  and  the  hills  and  valleys 
became  bare  and  bleak  as  the  winter  cold  closed  on  them. 
The  mountains  in  that  part  were  mostly  rounded  and  un- 
interesting— ugly  heaps  of  rock  and  earth,  with  no  trace 
of  beauty  to  attract  attention,  and  life  in  Kukturuk  was 
in  the  highest  degree  monotonous  till  Lieutenant  Stewart 
arrived. 

At  last,  on  October  4,  Lieutenant  Davison  rejoined  me. 
He  had  been  treated  in  an  even  more  cavalier  manner  by 
the  Russians  than  I had,  and  been  marched  off  back  with 
them  to  Turkestan  from  the  Alichur  Pamir.  As  far  as  he 
personally  was  concerned,  he  seems  to  have  enjoyed  the 
trip ; he  found  the  Russian  officers  very  cheery  com- 
panions; he  was  asked  to  dinner  by  the  Russian  governor 
of  Margillan,  and  altogether  he  had  a much  better  time 
with  them  than  he  would  have  had  with  his  regiment  in 
the  plains  of  India  during  the  hot  weather.  He  was  able 
to  do  some  useful  work,  too,  for  the  Russians  took  him 
by  a road  which  no  British  officer  had  traversed  before. 
Having  thoroughly  satisfied  themselves,  the  Russians 
escorted  Davison  to  the  Chinese  frontier,  and  then  let 
him  go.  But  here  a difficulty  arose.  Davison  had  with 
him  no  passport,  and  as  he  came  from  Russian  territory, 
the  Chinese  frontier  official  naturally  took  him  for  a 
Russian  and  wished  to  stop  him.  But  the  want  of  such 
a trifle  as  a passport  was  not  likely  to  stop  Davison  very 
long,  and  he  and  his  man  jumped  upon  their  ponies 


2g6 


KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 


[chap.  XV 

while  the  Chinese  official  was  vociferating,  and  they 
galloped  off  towards  Kashgar,  scarcely  stopping  till  they 
reached  the  place,  where  Davison  saw  the  Chinese  officials 
who  had  known  him  before,  and  explained  matters  to 
them.  He  then  came  on  to  rejoin  me  on  the  Tagh-dum- 
bash  Pamir.  Away  in  the  distance  down  the  valley  I 
saw  a horseman  approaching  dressed  in  the  peaked  cap 
and  high  boots  of  the  Russians,  and  I thought  that 
another  Russian  was  going  to  honour  me  with  a visit. 
This  proved,  however,  to  be  Davison.  As  was  the 
custom  with  him,  he  had  travelled  with  wonderful  rapidity, 
and  had  taken  only  ten  days  to  reach  Kukturuk  from 
Kashgar. 

We  now  had  to  find  our  way  back  to  India  as  originally 
intended.  Colonel  Yonoff  had  barred  all  the  known  passes 
to  me,  so  our  only  resource  was  to  discover  an  unknown 
pass — always  an  easy  matter  in  those  parts,  for  the  moun- 
tains there  are  rarely  too  difficult  for  small  parties  to  get 
over.  On  October  5 we  set  off,  therefore,  and  instead  of 
following  up  the  main  valley  to  the  Wakhijrui  Pass,  we 
branched  off  from  it  about  five  miles  lower  down  than  the 
pass,  and  ascended  a side  valley.  In  this  we  found  a 
glacier,  up  which  we  had  to  make  our  way,  but  it  was 
easy  enough  to  admit  of  our  taking  yaks  up  it,  and  just 
before  sunset  we  reached  the  summit. 

Then,  indeed,  a magnificent  view  presented  itself.  By 
Kukturuk  the  mountains  had  all  been  low  and  tame — I 
speak,  of  course,  comparatively,  for  they  were  far  higher 
even  above  the  valley  bottom  than  are  any  hills  in  the 
British  Isles  above  the  sea — but  here  we  were  among  the 
real  mountain  monarchs  once  more.  We  saw  before  us 
an  amphitheatre  of  snowy  peaks  glittering  in  the  fading 
sunlight,  and  at  their  foot  one  vast  snowfield,  the  deposi- 
tory of  all  their  surplus  snow  and  ice,  and  the  first  begin- 
ning of  the  great  glacier  which  would  bear  the  burden 
down  the  valley  from  it.  This  nook  of  mountains  was 
the  very  Heart  of  Central  Asia.  One  side  of  the  amphi- 
theatre was  formed  by  the  range  of  mountains  which 
divides  the  waters  of  the  Oxus,  which  flow  to  Turkestan, 


THE  PANJA  RIVER 


1891] 


297 


from  the  waters  of  the  Indus,  which  make  their  way  to 
India.  Here  was  also  the  meeting-point  of  the  watershed 
which  divides  the  rivers  flowing  eastward  into  Chinese 
Turkestan  from  those  flowing  westward  to  Russian  and 
Afghan  Turkestan,  with  that  other  watershed  which 
separates  the  rivers  of  India  on  the  south  from  the  rivers 
of  Central  Asia  on  the  north.  At  the  very  point  at  which 
we  stood  those  two  great  watersheds  of  Asia  met ; they 
formed  the  glittering  amphitheatre  of  snowy  peaks  which 
we  saw  before  us,  and  it  was  from  the  snowfields  at  the 
base  of  these  that  issued  the  parent  glacier  of  the  mighty 
Oxus. 

Just  below  the  pass  we  found  a small  lake,  about  three- 
quarters  of  a mile  in  length  and  width,  fed  by  three 
glaciers.  It  was  walled  all  round,  except  at  one  point, 
by  cliffs  a hundred  feet  and  more  in  height  of  pure  trans- 
parent ice.  Its  waters  were  of  a deep  clear  blue,  and 
overflowed  at  the  one  unguarded  side  in  a small  stream 
down  the  glacier  in  the  main  valley  below. 

We  did  not  now  descend  into  this  main  valley,  which  is 
that  of  the  Panja  River,  the  principal  branch  of  the  Oxus, 
but  kept  along  high  up  the  mountain-side,  about  fifteen 
thousand  feet  above  the  valley  bottom.  Darkness  had 
come  on,  and  I was  unable  to  see  how  far  down  the 
valley  the  glacier  extended  ; but  at  rather  more  than  a 
mile  above  the  point  where  the  route  by  the  Wakhijrui 
Pass  descends  into  this  same  valley,  we  came  down  into 
the  valley  bottom,  and  found  there  no  glacier,  but  a con- 
siderable stream — the  Panja.  The  pass  which  we  crossed 
was  situated  about  eight  miles  south  of  the  Wakhijrui. 
There  are  no  signs  of  a path  by  it,  and,  as  far  as  I could 
learn,  not  even  a Kirghiz  had  been  by  it  before.  But  it 
presents  no  particular  difficulties,  and  we  were  able,  as  I 
said,  to  take  yaks  the  whole  way,  and  were  generally  able 
to  ride  them.  The  pass  has,  however,  no  importance,  as 
the  Wakhijrui  is  easier  and  more  direct. 

Arriving  in  the  dark  at  midnight,  and  with  the  whole 
country  deeply  covered  with  snow,  we  could  find  no 
brushwood.  We  had,  accordingly,  to  content  ourselves 


298  KASHGAR  TO  INDIA  [chap,  xv 

with  a few  tent-pegs  as  fuel  for  fire  by  which  to  heat  up  a 
little  water  for  tea  ; and  then,  having  pitched  our  tents  on 
the  snow,  we  turned  in.  Next  day  we  marched  down  the 
Pamir-i-Wakhan,  which,  on  account  of  its  right  bank 
facing  south  and  so  getting  the  sun,  is  much  frequented 
by  the  Wakhi  shepherds  in  the  winter  months  ; and  on 
the  day  after  passed  by  Bozai-Gumbaz.  We  now  had  to 
discover  another  new  pass,  for  here  again  all  the  known 
passes  were  barred  by  my  agreement  with  Colonel  Yonoff. 
The  range  of  the  Indus  watershed,  the  main  ridge  of  the 
Hindu  Kush,  was  likely  to  prove  far  harder  to  cross  than 
had  the  last  mountain  barrier,  and  I had,  therefore,  for 
some  time  past  taken  pains  to  find  out  from  the  natives  if 
any  other  pass  than  the  known  ones  existed.  It  is  of  little 
use  to  ask  the  people  straight  out,  “Is  there  a pass?” 
They  would,  of  course,  reply,  “No,  there  isn’t,”  and  the 
conversation  would  end.  So  I used  to  say  that  I was 
going  by  a pass  to  the  right  of  such  and  such  a pass,  the 
latter  being  some  well-known  one.  For  a long  time  the 
men  replied,  one  after  another,  that  no  such  pass  existed, 
but  at  last  one  man  said  that  it  was  a very  difficult  one. 
Then  I had  the  clue  that  there  really  was  one,  and  matters 
after  that  were  comparatively  simple. 

Two  days  after  passing  Bozai-Gumbaz,  we  reached  the 
foot  of  the  long-sought-for  pass.  But  it  was  snowing 
hard,  and  had  been  snowing  equally  hard  for  some  days. 
Lieutenant  Stewart,  who  had  preceded  me  by  a few  days, 
had  crossed  the  Khora  Bhort  Pass  with  difficulty,  accord- 
ing to  our  Wakhi  guides.  We  were  now  well  into 
October,  and  this  heavy  fall  of  snow  had  closed  the  pass 
for  the  year.  I told  the  Wakhis  that  the  weather  would 
certainly  clear  on  the  morrow,  and  then  we  should  find 
no  difficulty,  for  I had  crossed  many  passes  before  and 
knew  how  to  tackle  them.  But  when  we  rose  at  five  the 
next  morning  it  was  snowing  harder  than  ever,  and  the 
Wakhis  said  it  was  quite  impracticable.  I told  them, 
however,  that  I wanted  them  to  come  with  me  to  show  me 
how  impracticable  it  was,  and  then  we  started  off,  Davison 
and  I riding  yaks,  and  two  Wakhis  on  foot.  How  thank- 


CUT  BY  THE  WIND 


299 


1891] 

ful  we  in  England  ought  to  feel  that  the  Oriental  does  not 
come  raging  round  our  country  and  insist  upon  turning 
us  out  to  climb  mountains  in  the  depth  of  winter,  and  in 
the  middle  of  snowstorms,  while  he  rides  comfortably 
along  by  our  sides  and  tells  us  that  there  is  no  difficulty  ! 
The  patient,  submissive  Wakhi  consents  to  do  this  with- 
out a murmur — that  is  to  say,  without  a murmur  worth 
recording  in  these  pages.  And  the  result  was  that  we 
were  able  to  cross  the  pass  successfully  and  without  any 
serious  inconvenience. 

After  ascending  a rocky  valley  for  three  miles,  we 
suddenly  came  on  a glacier,  up  which  we  had  to  climb  for 
about  seven  miles  to  the  summit  of  the  pass.  The  snow- 
fall was  so  heavy,  that  when  we  were  once  on  this  glacier 
we  could  not  see  a trace  of  the  mountains  on  either  side. 
The  only  thing  we  saw  was  the  billowy,  snow-covered 
glacier,  and  up  this  we  kept,  knowing  that  it  must  neces- 
sarily lead  to  the  pass.  We,  of  course,  had  to  proceed 
very  slowly  and  carefully,  for  fear  of  crevasses  hidden  by 
the  snow.  But,  like  the  elephant,  which  will  not  cross  a 
shaky  bridge,  the  yak  knows  by  instinct  the  parts  that  will 
not  bear,  and,  snorting  and  sniffing  along,  he  finds  his 
way  unerringly  up  a glacier  ; and  about  four  o’clock  in 
the  afternoon  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  pass  without 
experiencing  any  real  difficulty.  The  pass  was  very  narrow 
and  deep-cut,  and,  on  the  opposite  side,  very  abrupt ; and 
the  wind  blew  through  it  as  through  a funnel.  I never 
experienced  such  an  icy  blast  as  that  which  met  us  as  we 
reached  the  summit.  It  came  concentrating  down  upon 
us  with  terrific  force,  and  sharp  as  a knife.  We  only  had 
its  full  force  for  a few  minutes,  for  we  quickly  dropped 
down  into  comparative  shelter,  but  during  that  short  time 
our  faces  were  cut  across  in  slashes.  Most  of  my  face  was 
protected,  for  I wore  a thick  beard  ; but  Davison  had  no 
beard,  and  suffered  very  badly.  His  face  did  not  recover 
for  weeks  after. 

The  descent  from  the  pass  for  about  a thousand  feet  was 
extremely  rough  and  steep,  and  then  we  emerged  on  to  a 
gentler  slope,  trending  downwards  towards  the  Ashkuman 


300 


KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 


[chap.  XV 

or  Karumbar  River,  There  was  no  sort  of  path,  and,  as 
the  snowstorm  was  still  raging,  we  had  no  means  of  dis- 
covering in  which  direction  we  should  move,  but  wandered 
aimlessly  about  till  we  were  suddenly  brought  up  on  the 
brink  of  a precipice.  Here  we  had  to  halt,  for  it  was 
dangerous  to  move  when  we  could  see  little  before  us. 
But,  fortunately,  just  before  sunset  the  snowstorm  cleared, 
and  we  looked  down  over  the  precipice  in  the  valley  of  the 
Karumbar  River  far  below.  We  followed  along  the  edge 
of  the  cliffs  till  we  found  a way  down  into  the  valley,  and, 
at  about  ten  o’clock,  reached  a spot  by  the  river  where 
wood  was  procurable  in  plenty,  and  here  we  camped  for 
the  night. 

We  were  now  once  more  on  the  Indian  side  of  the  great 
watershed  of  Central  Asia,  and  all  we  had  to  do  was  to 
push  on  as  rapidly  as  we  could  to  India,  We  reached 
Gilgit  on  October  13,  and  after  a few  days’  halt  with 
Colonel  Durand,  who  was  still  carrying  on  his  work  there, 
pressed  on  to  Kashmir.  Two  years  before,  I had  crossed 
the  passes  in  that  direction  in  the  middle  of  December, 
and  it  did  not  strike  me  that  there  could  be  any  difficulty 
at  this  season,  when  we  were  not  yet  through  October. 
But  this  year  the  winter  had  closed  in  unusually  early  ; 
there  had  been  very  heavy  snowstorms,  and  consequently, 
when  we  came  to  the  Burzil,  a pass  thirteen  thousand  four 
hundred  feet  in  height,  we  found  that  a detachment  of 
Gurkhas  coming  over  it  had  suffered  very  severely.  The 
evening  we  arrived  there  this  detachment  of  two  hundred 
men  was  expected,  and  we  prepared  dinner  for  the  officers. 
But  it  was  not  till  nearly  one  o’clock  at  night  that  any 
arrived,  and  then  we  heard  that  the  mules  carrying  their 
baggage  had  stuck  in  the  snow  ; the  officers  and  men  had 
worked  for  the  whole  of  the  day  and  half-way  through  the 
night  to  get  them  along,  but  the  poor  animals  and  their 
unfortunate  native  drivers— all  of  them,  animals  and  men, 
from  the  plains  of  India,  and  unacquainted  with  cold  and 
snow — had  not  been  able  to  perform  the  task.  The 
animals  had  to  be  unloaded  in  the  narrow  path  through 
the  snow,  and  left  there  till  morning,  while  the  men  got 


301 


iSgi]  A FROST-BITTEN  DETACHMENT 

what  shelter  they  could  in  the  woods  farther  on,  near  the 
camping-ground.  When  Captain  Barratt,  the  officer  in 
command,  arrived,  he  complained  of  a pain  in  his  foot, 
and  this  proved  to  be  a severe  frostbite,  which  laid  him 
up  for  nearly  six  months,  and  through  which  he  lost  three 
toes.  Altogether  there  were  one  hundred  and  thirty-two 
cases  of  frostbite  among  the  men  and  followers  of  that 
detachment,  who,  coming  up  suddenly  from  the  heat  of 
India,  were  unable  to  withstand  the  unexpected  cold. 

Next  day  Davison  and  I,  with  our  sturdy  Yarkand 
ponies  now  inured  to  cold  and  snow,  crossed  the  pass 
without  mishap,  and  finding  the  ponies  still  had  work  in 

them,  we  were  able  to  accomplish  another  march  on  the 
opposite  side  as  well. 

Two  days  later  we  crossed  our  last  pass,  the  Tragbal, 
eleven  thousand  four  hundred  feet,  and  from  the  summit 
saw  once  again  the  lovely  vale  of  Kashmir  spread  out  at 
our  feet,  and  looked  out  on  the  pine-clad  slopes,  the 
cultivated  village  lands,  the  placid  lake,  and  the  distant 
range  of  snowy  peaks  beyond.  All  was  deep  in  snow  at 
the  summit  of  the  pass,  and  the  cold  intense  in  the  early 
morning,  but  at  each  step  we  descended  towards  the  valley 
of  Kashmir  the  air  grew  warmer.  The  icy  blasts  of  the 
Pamir  passes,  and  the  gloomy  frosts  of  the  Burzil,  were 
now  left  well  behind  us.  We  discarded  our  fur  cloaks,  and, 
as  we  approached  the  valley,  even  our  coats  also ; and 

then,  as  evening  was  drawing  in,  we  reached  the  shores 
of  the  lake  and  threw  ourselves  into  one  of  the  luxurious 
Kashmir  gondolas  which  was  awaiting  us. 

Another  journey  had  been  accomplished  ; all  the  diffi- 
culties and  all  the  anxieties  of  it  were  now  over.  For 
seventeen  months  I had  been  away  from  civilisation,  and 
cut  off  from  intercourse  with  my  friends,  and  now  once 
more  I was  returning  to  all  the  pleasures  which  that  can 
give.  As  the  sun  was  declining  towards  the  horizon,  and 
casting  the  long  shadows  from  the  mountains  over  the 
still  waters  of  the  lake,  we  pushed  off  from  the  shore,  and 
were  paddled  smoothly  and  quietly  over  its  unruffled 
surface.  No  more  exertion  on  our  part  was  now  necessary ; 


302 


KASHGAR  TO  INDIA 


[chap.  XV 

all  we  had  to  do  was  to  recline  luxuriously  in  the  boat, 
while  we  were  borne  swiftly  and  easily  over  the  water. 
The  sun  set  in  a glow  of  glory.  The  snows  of  the  moun- 
tain summits  were  tinged  with  ruddy  hues,  the  fleecy 
clouds  overhead  were  suffused  in  ever-changing  colours ; 
then  slowly  the  peaks  in  the  distant  east  grew  grey,  the 
warm  tints  faded  from  the  scene,  one  by  one  the  stars 
pierced  through  the  skies,  and  night  settled  down  upon 
the  mountains. 

Then,  as  I lay  back  watching  the  enchanting  scene  of 
peaceful  beauty,  and  as  the  sense  of  rest  and  quiet  grew 
upon  me  and  soothed  away  the  feeling  of  stern  resolve 
which  settles  on  one  through  a journey,  I thought  over 
the  long  marches  past,  the  many  privations  now  at  an 
end,  and  the  difficulties  overcome.  I thought  of  these, 
and  of  those  hard  latter  months  of  my  stay  in  Kashgar, 
and  I knew  that  the  hardest  must  be  past,  and  that  a 
brighter  time  was  nearing. 

At  Srinagar  I parted  with  poor  Davison,  and  never  saw 
him  again.  Two  years  later  he  was  ordered  to  the  Gilgit 
frontier,  but  he  caught  a chill  in  crossing  the  Burzil  Pass, 
and  died  of  enteric  fever  a few  marches  beyond  it.  He 
had  all  the  makings  of  a great  explorer;  he  had  unsurpass- 
able energy,  what  one  might  almost  call  blind  pluck, 
for  nothing  to  him  was  dangerous,  and  he  had  an  in- 
exhaustible enthusiasm  for  travel.  I may  add  that, 
though  few  of  us  who  knew  him  suspected  him  of  it, 
papers  written  by  him,  and  found  among  his  effects, 
showed  that  he  thought  very  seriously  upon  many  subjects 
not  generally  supposed  to  engage  the  attention  of  so 
young  an  officer  as  he  was,  and  his  loss  must  be  deplored 
by  all  who  can  admire  true  manliness  and  resolution. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE  MISSIONARY  QUESTION  IN  CHINA 

“ I venerate  the  man  whose  heart  is  warm, 

Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whose  life. 

Coincident,  exhibit  lucid  proof 

That  he  is  honest  in  the  sacred  cause.” — Cowper. 


Before  recording  the  general  impressions  formed  in 
my  mind  in  the  course  of  my  travels,  I am  anxious 
to  say  something  on  the  subject  of  missionary  enterprise 
in  China,  because  I have  thought  that  a few  words  on  this 
question  from  one  who  has  seen  missionaries  at  work  in 
the  remotest  corners  of  the  Chinese  Empire  may  be  of 
interest  to  readers  in  England  at  the  present  time,*  when 
the  recent  massacres  in  China  have  directed  marked  atten- 
tion to  the  matter.  I do  not  think  that  a mere  casual 
traveller  like  myself  ought  to  presume  to  judge  in  too 
assured  a way  the  many  really  earnest  men  who,  taking 
their  lives  in  their  hands,  have  gone  out  to  impart  to  the 
Chinese  a religion  which  they  believe  would  help  to 
elevate  and  rouse  those  ignorant  of  its  blessings.  Many 
of  these  have  devoted  years  to  the  study  of  the  question, 
and  they  have  had  practical  experience  in  dealing  with  the 
Chinese.  It  would  ill  befit  a passing  traveller,  therefore, 
to  undertake  to  say  whether  this  or  that  method  of  pro- 
selytising was  good  or  the  reverse,  or  to  judge  whether  the 
missionaries  have  been  successful  or  not. 

But  it  is  part  of  the  duty  of  a traveller  to  observe  and 
record  his  observations  for  what  they  are  worth  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  are  not  so  fortunate  as  himself  in 
being  able  to  penetrate  to  little-visited  regions.  And 


* This  was  written  in  1895. 

303 


304  MISSIONARY  QUESTION  IN  CHINA  [chap. 

perhaps  the  impressions  formed  by  one  who  has  now  had 
a varied  experience  of  dealing  with  peoples  of  other 
religions  than  his  own  may  not  only  be  of  interest  to  the 
people  at  home,  but  may  also  prove  of  some  help  to  the 
workers  on  the  spot.  These  latter  will,  at  any  rate,  know 
that  interest  is  taken  in  their  work,  and  if  criticism  is  some- 
times hostile,  they  will  remember  that  it  is  only  by  criticism 
and  opposition  that  high  standards  ever  are  kept  up.  If 
no  interest  were  shown  in  the  work,  if  the  traveller  merely 
passed  by  on  the  other  side,  and  never  recorded  a single 
impression  of  it,  and  if  no  criticism  were  ever  offered, 
assuredly  the  standard  would  lower,  the  zeal  would  flag, 
and  listlessness  come  on. 

I may  say  at  once,  then,  that  my  sympathies  are  entirely 
with  the  missionaries  ; and  having  seen  the  noble  men 
I have  met  with  in  the  far  interior  of  China,  and  realised 
the  sacrifices  they  have  made,  I say  that  the  hearts  of  all 
true  Englishmen  and  of  all  true  Christian  nations  ought 
to  go  out  to  encouraging  and  helping  those  who  have 
given  up  everything  in  this  life  to  do  good  to  others. 
I only  wish  that  those  who  from  the  prosperous,  comfort- 
able homes  of  their  native  country  so  severely  criticise 
missionary  enterprise,  could  see  one  of  those  splendid 
French  missionaries  whom  I met  in  North  Manchuria, 
and  who  had  gone  out  there  for  his  life  and  would  never 
see  his  home  again.  I feel  sure  that  any  fair-minded 
Englishman  would  see  that  this  was  a real  man — a man  to 
whom  his  sympathies  might  truly  go  out,  and  who  was 
really  likely  to  contribute  to  the  elevation  of  the  human 
race. 

All  missionaries  are  not  of  this  same  high  standard. 
But  because  some  missionaries  have  found  their  strength 
inadequate  for  the  task  before  them,  and  have  discovered 
that  the  fire  of  enthusiasm  has  died  out  in  the  clear  light 
of  everyday  life,  till  they  remain  but  burnt-out  lamps  by 
the  way,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  great  Christian  work 
of  helping  others  is  to  be  abandoned,  and  hundreds  of 
English  men  and  women  asked  to  return  home  and 
acknowledge  that  the  work  to  which  they  had  devoted 


xvi] 


WHAT  IS  A CONVERT? 


305 


their  lives,  and  for  which  their  fathers  before  them  had 
spent  and  often  sacrificed  their  lives,  was  not  worth  doing. 

Surely  the  true  spirit  of  the  English  nation  is  one  of 
sympathy  with  brave  men  who  risk  their  lives  as  freely 
and  fearlessly  as  any  soldier  for  what  they  believe  to  be 
the  good  and  right.  Turn  away  those  who  have  flagged 
by  the  wayside,  and  show  the  contempt  for  them  that  they 
deserve  ; but  do  not  let  the  work  of  the  true  missionaries 
be  allowed  to  suffer  and  be  despised  because  of  these. 
Readers  who  have  followed  me  through  these  pages  will 
have  seen  that  good  work  is  being  done  by  the  mission- 
aries in  some  places  at  least,  and  let  missionary  enterprise 
be  judged  by  the  achievements  of  such  men  as  these,  and 
not  simply  of  those  who,  living  on  the  fringes  of  civilisa- 
tion, enjoying  all  its  luxuries  and  comforts,  and  devoting 
but  a fraction  of  their  time  to  true  missionary  work,  have 
deserved  the  sneers  which  have  been  thrown  at  them. 
These  latter  are  the  men  who  are  most  commonly  met 
with,  and  the  real  workers  are  usually  only  seen  by  the 
few  travellers  who  penetrate  inland.  But  it  is  no  more 
right  to  judge  by  these  faint-hearted  ones  of  the  whole 
work  done  by  missionaries,  than  it  is  to  judge  of  an  army 
in  the  field  by  the  men  who,  from  physical  unfitness  or 
known  lack  of  energy,  have  been  left  behind  at  the  base. 

Nor  should  the  work  of  missionaries  be  judged  of  by 
statistics  of  converts.  Statistics  are  utterly  valueless  in 
cases  of  this  sort.  It  is  impossible  to  define,  in  the  first 
place,  what  a convert  is.  The  usual  idea  is  that  a man 
becomes  a convert  when  he  is  baptised  ; but  I have  known 
a dying  man  baptised  without  his  knowing  anything 
about  it,  and  surely  he  could  not  be  claimed  as  a convert ! 
Conversion  means  the  changed  state  of  the  whole  person  ; 
and  the  whole  person,  especially  when  he  is  a stolid 
Chinaman,  changes  very  slowly  indeed,  so  that  it  is 
impossible  to  say  exactly  when  and  where  he  has  become 
a new  man.  I think,  then,  that  those  who  have  had  most 
to  do  with  peoples  of  other  religions  than  the  Christian, 
and  have  realised  how  difficult  and  slow  the  change  from 
one  state  to  another  must  be — and  how  valueless,  if  ever 

X 


3o6  missionary  QUESTION  IN  CHINA  [chap. 

it  is  effected  rapidly — will  have  the  least  faith  in  any  mere 
statistics  of  converts  to  Christianity. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  men  who  have  studied  the 
whole  effect  of  Christianity  upon  European  civilisation, 
and  have  traced  the  first  germ,  planted  nearly  two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  growing  and  expanding,  till  it  influenced 
all  the  nations  of  Europe  ; those  who  compare  the  state  of 
society  before  that  germ  was  implanted,  with  the  state 
of  society  at  the  present  day,  have  recognised  what  mar- 
vellous good  the  Christian  religion  has  done.  Men  may 
not  agree  as  to  the  truth  of  many  of  the  doctrines  which 
have  become  encrusted  on  to  the  central  truth  and  essence 
of  Christianity,  but  all  can  see  the  truth  and  force  of  the 
primary  Christian  doctrine  of  love  toward  their  neigh- 
bour. And  the  results  of  the  infusing  of  this  principle 
into  the  human  race  are  evident  in  the  increased  amount 
of  sympathy  displayed  by  European  nations. 

A well-informed  writer  in  the  Times,  in  the  winter  of 
1894-95,  stated  that  in  London  alone  the  amount  annually 
given  for  charity  by  contributions,  by  legacies,  and  by 
the  interest  on  legacies,  did  not  fall  far  short  of  twenty 
million  sterling.  Every  Christian  country  has  numbers 
of  benevolent  institutions  for  the  sick,  the  aged,  the 
orphans,  the  lame,  the  blind,  the  deaf,  the  dumb,  the 
weak-minded,  and  the  fallen.  And  not  for  men  and 
women  only,  but  for  horses,  dogs  and  cats,  and  other 
domestic  pets.  Contrasted  with  the  state  of  feeling  one 
notices  in  Asiatic  countries  at  the  present  day,  there  is, 
too,  among  Christians,  a markedly  deeper  sensitiveness 
to  suffering  or  oppression  in  any  form.  Such  barbarities 
as  those  of  the  recent  Armenian  atrocities  are  thought 
little  of  among  Asiatics.  Through  the  Christian  nations 
in  Europe  and  America  they  send  a thrill  of  horror,  and 
the  sympathy  evoked  for  the  sufferers  shows  itself  in  the 
practical  form  of  active  measures  for  preventing  such 
atrocities  for  the  future.  We  have,  again,  the  case  of 
one  Christian  nation  spending  millions  of  pounds  to 
release  slaves  owned  by  its  subjects.  Sympathy  is,  of 
course,  not  unknown  in  Asiatic  countries,  and  the  devo- 


xvi]  FANATICS  AMONG  MISSIONARIES  307 

tion  with  which  the  natives  of  India  provide  for  their  own 
or  infirm  relations  is  worthy  of  all  praise.  But  I think 
that  every  one  who  looks  at  an  Asiatic  nation,  as  a whole, 
and  at  a Christian  nation,  will  agree  that,  in  the  latter, 
the  sympathetic  feelings  are  far  more  highly  developed 
generally. 

If,  then,  European  nations  have  in  the  main  derived  so 
much  benefit  from  the  adoption  of  the  Christian  religion 
from  one  of  the  peoples  of  Asia,  surely  they  are  justified 
in  trying  to  impart  it  to  peoples  of  another  part  of  the 
same  continent.  And  they  are  not  only  justified  in  doing 
so,  but  it  is  human  nature  that  they  should.  Christians 
cannot  help  feeling,  when  they  are  brought  in  contact 
with  men  of  other  religions,  that  they  have  a higher  and 
truer  idea  of  the  Deity,  and  of  their  relations  to  the  Deity 
— which  is  religion — than  have  the  devotees  of  any  other 
religion.  They  see  that  that  portion  of  the  human  race 
which  has  embraced  the  Christian  religion  has  progressed 
more  than  any  other,  and  they  naturally  desire  to  impart 
to  others  those  doctrines  which  they  feel  have  done  so 
much  good  to  themselves.  This  is  a natural  and  reason- 
able feeling,  and  is  the  mainspring  of  all  missionary 
enterprise. 

It  is,  however,  in  the  method  of  imparting  their  own 
convictions  to  those  who  profess  other  religions,  that 
some  missionaries  may  be  criticised.  There  are  some 
whom  we  might  call  fanatical  missionaries,  who  imagine 
that  the  Christian  religion,  with  all  the  doubtful  doctrines 
which  have  been  hung  on  to  it — as  such  doctrines  do 
hang  on  to  religions  of  every  type,  as  time  goes  on — is  all 
right,  and  that  every  other  religion  is  all  wrong.  In 
uncompromising  language  they  denounce  the  religion 
which  differs  from  their  own,  and  all  that  is  connected 
with  it.  They  tell  men  who  have  been  brought  up  from 
their  childhood  in  it — and  whose  fathers,  for  hundreds, 
and  perhaps  thousands,  of  years  before  them,  have  be- 
lieved the  truth  of  it — that  they  are  to  be  damned  eternally  ; 
that  all  they  believe  is  wrong  ; and  that  unless  they  can 
believe  in  doctrinal  Christianity,  they  will  not  be  saved. 


3o8  missionary  QUESTION  IN  CHINA  [chap. 

Assertions  like  this,  delivered  by  men  very  often  of  little 
culture,  and  little  knowledge  of  the  world  and  of  human 
nature,  naturally  invite  hostility.  Mohammedans,  Budd- 
hists, Confucianists,  feel  that  there  is  some  right  in  what 
they  profess,  and  they  resent  a stranger,  who  very  often  is 
ignorant  of  what  the  tenets  of  their  religion  really  are, 
denouncing  them,  and  trying  to  force  his  own  ideas  so 
rudely  upon  them.  And  these  “heathen”  have  reason. 
Students  of  their  religions  say  that,  in  many  points,  these 
coincide  with  the  Christian  ; and,  from  experience  among 
Mohammedans  and  Buddhists,  I can  say  that,  practically, 
in  their  lives  they  often  work  on  very  Christian-like 
principles. 

I have  found,  too,  at  least  among  Mohammedans,  that 
such  general  principles  as  doing  to  others  as  one  would 
be  done  by  one’s  self,  and  the  existence  of  a Deity  ruling 
the  universe,  are  thoroughly  understood  and  appreciated, 
though  the  means  for  acting  up  to  them  are  not  always 
available. 

Europeans  who  have  lived  in  these  strange  lands,  per- 
haps for  years,  away  from  their  own  church  — among 
people  of  a different  religion  from  their  own ; people  whom 
they  have  been  accustomed  to  hear  spoken  of  as  heathen, 
and,  consequently,  destined  for  eternal  punishment— find 
themselves  taking  note  of  these  men,  observing  their 
natures,  and  studying  the  kind  of  life  they  lead.  And 
when  it  is  found  that  the  followers  of  one  religion  after 
another  lead  lives  not  so  clearly  worse  than  the  lives  led 
by  Christians  as  to  merit  all  the  distinction  of  punish- 
ment between  hell  and  heaven  ; when  it  is  found,  too, 
that  the  follower  of  each  of  these  religions  is  just  as  sure 
as  the  Christian  is  that  his  particular  religion  is  the  true 
one,  and  all  others  false,  then  the  Christian  stranger 
begins  to  question  whether  he  is  wholly  right  in  regarding 
the  “heathen”  as  only  destined  for  damnation,  and  their 
religion  as  so  utterly  wrong. 

At  the  same  time  the  truth  gradually  dawns  upon  him 
that  religion  is  universal,  and  an  essential  part  of  human 
nature.  With  the  truth  of  this  I have  been  deeply  im- 


xvi]  THE  UNIVERSALITY  OF  RELIGION 


309 


pressed  upon  my  travels.  I remember  the  rude  Mongols, 
far  away  in  the  midst  of  the  Gobi  Desert,  setting  apart  in 
their  tents  the  little  altar  at  which  they  worshipped.  I re- 
call nights  spent  in  the  tents  of  the  wandering  Kirghiz, 
when  the  family  of  an  evening  would  say  their  prayers 
together ; I think  of  the  Afghan  and  Central  Asian 
merchants  visiting  me  in  Yarkand,  and  in  the  middle 
of  their  visits  asking  to  be  excused  while  they  laid  down 
a cloth  on  the  floor  and  repeated  their  prayers  ; of  the 
late  Mehtar  of  Chitral,  during  a morning’s  shooting 
among  the  mountains,  halting,  with  all  his  court,  for 
a few  minutes  to  pray  ; and,  lastly,  of  the  wild  men  of 
Hunza,  whom  I had  led  up  a new  and  difficult  pass, 
pausing  as  they  reached  the  summit  to  offer  a prayer  of 
thanks,  and  ending  with  a shout  of  “ Allah  ! ” 

In  all  these  there  was  a religious  sentiment  deeply 
rooted.  They  all  shared  the  feeling  that  there  was  some 
Great  Spirit  or  Influence  guiding  and  ruling  all  things, 
and  that  in  some  indefinable  way  they  were  dependent  on 
this  Spirit.  This  feeling,  which  is  religion,  is  universal, 
and  has  developed  with  the  development  of  the  human 
race.  It  seems  to  have  been  implanted  in  the  mind  of 
man  as  life  was  breathed  into  his  body.  And  as  I have 
watched  the  workings  and  the  results  of  this  feeling  in  its 
different  forms,  and  examined  the  effects  and  tried  to 
judge  of  the  value  of  the  different  religions,  I have  come 
to  look  upon  them  as  so  many  progressive  steps  in  the 
development  of  the  religious  idea — that  is,  of  the 
religious  feeling  in  the  human  race  ; as  so  many  steps 
in  the  development  upwards,  of  which  it  is  by  no  means 
certain  that  the  highest  has  yet  been  reached. 

If,  then,  we  can  argue,  from  the  universality  of  the 
religious  idea  in  man,  that  religion  is  essential  to  the 
human  race  ; if  we  can  trust  the  universal  feeling  that 
there  is  some  Spirit— call  that  Spirit  what  we  will — ruling 
the  Universe  and  guiding  the  development  of  the  human 
race  ; — then  it  is  only  reasonable  to  believe  that,  as  the 
race  grows  older  and  accumulates  experience,  and  as 
other  faculties  develop,  so  this  religious  feeling  will 


310  MISSIONARY  QUESTION  IN  CHINA  [chap. 

develop  also,  and  the  conception  of  the  Deity  and  of  the 
relations  of  man  to  the  Deity  enlarge  itself.  The 
traveller  through  strange  countries  sees  that  the  various 
forms  of  religion  professed  by  separate  peoples  only 
differ  in  degree  of  truth,  that  none  are  wholly  false,  and 
that  all  have  the  same  foundation  of  belief  in  a Power 
governing  and  influencing  all  men. 

He  can  no  longer  believe  that  the  Christian  religion  is 
so  far  superior  to  the  Buddhist  or  the  Mohammedan  re- 
ligion, that  the  Christian  is  to  go  to  heaven,  while  the 
“ heathen  ” is  to  go  to  hell.  He  cannot  help  recognising 
that  there  is  something  in  the  Christian  religion  vastly 
superior  to  others,  but  he  sees  that  these  latter  have  much 
that  is  good  and  true  in  them  also.  The  feeling,  then, 
that  is  begotten  from  reflecting  on  all  this,  is  that  those 
who  desire  to  be  leaders  in  a religion,  and  to  gain  ad- 
herents to  it,  must  study  in  a sympathetic  manner  the 
religions  of  others.  They  must  do  this,  and  it  cannot  be 
doubted  that  cultured  men,  living  true  and  noble  lives, 
must  be  able  to  influence  those  around  them.  Be  they 
professed  missionaries  or  be  they  simple  Christian  men 
and  women,  be  they  in  their  own  or  in  a strange  country, 
men  of  culture  and  learning,  who  do  their  best  to  carry 
out  in  their  daily  lives  the  precepts  which  they  know  to 
be  good,  will  be  able  slowly  to  raise  the  moral  standard 
of  those  among  whom  they  live,  and  give  those  who  are 
more  ignorant  a higher  conception  of  the  Deity  and  of 
the  relation  of  man  to  the  Deity.  They  will  be  able  to 
disabuse  the  untutored  of  the  gross  ideas  of  God  which 
are  so  often  formed — of  such  ideas,  for  instance,  as  that 
of  an  inhuman  monster  who  is  prepared  to  consign  to 
eternal  torture  of  the  most  barbarous  description  those 
whose  faults  are  so  trivial  as  not  to  meet  with  special 
punishment  even  here  on  earth ; and  by  the  daily, 
example  of  well-lived  lives  they  will  be  able  to  afford 
an  ideal  which  cannot  but  be  helpful  to  those  who  would 
wish  to  practise  the  precepts  which  they  know  so  well  are 
true,  but  only  so  difficult  to  carry  out  in  daily  life. 

This  is  what  the  best  missionaries  really  are  doing  in 


3“ 


xvi]  THE  PROGRESS  OF  CHRISTIANITY 

China,  and  have  been  doing  for  years  and  years.  Little 
effect  may  have  been  produced  in  so  short  a time,  as  a 
couple  of  centuries  upon  over  three  hundred  millions  of 
the  most  stationary  and  unimpressionable  race  in  the 
world.  But  that  was  to  be  expected.  In  the  first  two 
centuries  after  Christ  only  the  most  infinitesimal  effect 
had  been  produced  upon  Europe,  and  it  would  have  been 
perfectly  marvellous  if  in  so  short  a time  any  great  effect 
had  been  produced  upon  so  vast  and  hard  a mass  as 
China ; but  that  some  effect  is  being  produced  I can 
vouch  for  from  personal  experience.  I can  testify  to  the 
fact  that,  living  quietly  and  unostentatiously  in  the 
interior  of  China,  there  are  men  who,  by  their  lives  of 
noble  self-sacrifice  and  sterling  good,  are  slowly  influenc- 
ing those  about  them  ; men  who  have  so  influenced  not 
only  a few,  but  many  thousands  of  these  unenthusiastic 
Chinese,  as  to  cause  them  to  risk  life  itself  for  their 
religion.  And  if  this  good  work  is  going  on,  if  Chris- 
tians are  willing  to  give  up  all  they  hold  most  dear  in  this 
life  to  help  others  forward,  then  is  this  not  worthy  of  sup- 
port?— not  the  support  of  force,  for  even  the  missionaries 
do  not  desire  that,  but  the  support  to  be  afforded  by  the 
encouragement  of  their  fellow-Christians.  The  slothful, 
the  ignorant,  and  the  foolhardy  may  well  be  criticised, 
and  the  missionary  cause  will  only  be  advanced  if  such 
criticism  has  the  effect  of  stirring  them  to  increased  and 
more  discreet  activity.  But  the  true  missionary,  the  man 
who  devotes  his  life  to  the  work  of  imparting  to  other 
races  the  religion  from  which  his  own  has  derived  so 
much  benefit ; who  carefully  trains  himself  for  this  work  ; 
who  sympathetically  studies  the  religion,  the  character, 
and  the  peculiarities  of  the  people  he  wishes  to  convert ; 
and  who  practically  lives  a life  which  those  about  him  can 
see  to  be  good  ; — should  be  admired  as  the  highest  type 
of  manhood,  and  it  is  he  for  whom  I should  wish  to  enlist 
the  sympathies  of  my  fellow-countrymen  in  this  grave 
crisis  of  the  missionary  cause. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  TRAVEL 


“ I have  felt 


A presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  : a sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air. 

And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man  : 

A motion  and  a spirit,  that  impels 

All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 

And  rolls  through  all  things.” — Wordsworth. 


O have  travelled  among  such  varied  descriptions  of 


J.  country  as  have  been  portrayed  in  this  narrative — 
through  desert,  forest,  mountain,  plain — and  to  have 
been  brought  in  contact  with  so  many  types  of  the  human 
race,  from  the  highly  cultured  Hindoo  to  the  rough  tribes- 
man of  the  Himalayas,  without  forming  some  general 
impressions,  would  be  impossible.  When  a European 
travels  among  uncivilised,  ignorant  people,  he  is  con- 
stantly being  asked  questions  about  the  natural  phenomena 
around  him.  He  is  thus  made  to  realise  how  advanced 
our  knowledge  of  these  phenomena  is  in  comparison  with 
that  possessed  by  semi-barbarians ; and  in  his  solitary 
journeyings  he  is  incited  to  inquire  into  the  meanings  of 
what  he  sees,  and,  looking  backward  from  the  starting- 
point  of  our  knowledge,  as  marked  in  the  untutored 
people  around  him,  and  so  thinking  of  the  store  that  has 
been  acquired,  his  fancy  inevitably  wanders  into  the  fields 
of  discovery  to  come. 

No  one,  indeed,  who  has  been  alone  with  Nature  in  her 
purest  aspects,  and  seen  her  in  so  many  different  forms, 
can  help  pondering  over  her  meanings  ; and  though,  in 
the  strain  and  stress  of  travel,  her  deepest  messages  may 


312 


CHAP,  xvii]  THE  CALL  OF  THE  STARS 


313 

not  have  reached  my  ear,  now,  in  the  after-calm,  when 
I have  all  the  varied  scenes  as  vividly  before  me  as  on 
the  day  I saw  them,  and  have,  moreover,  leisure  to  appre- 
ciate them  and  feel  their  fullest  influence,  I can  realise 
something  of  her  grandeur,  the  mighty  scale  on  which 
she  works,  and  the  infinite  beauty  of  all  she  does.  These 
impressions,  as  I stand  now  at  the  close  of  my  narrative, 
with  the  many  scenes  which  the  writing  of  it  has  brought 
back  to  my  mind  full  before  my  eyes,  crowd  upon  me, 
and  I long  to  be  able  to  record  them  as  clearly  as  I feel 
them,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  have  not  had  the  leisure 
or  the  opportunity  to  visit  the  jealously  guarded  regions 
of  the  earth  where  Nature  reveals  herself  most  clearly. 

Upon  no  occasion  were  the  wonders  of  the  universe 
more  impressively  brought  before  my  mind  than  in  the 
long,  lonely  marches  in  the  Gobi  Desert.  For  seventy 
days  I was  travelling  across  the  desert,  and,  knowing  that 
the  marches  would  be  made  mostly  by  night,  I had 
brought  with  me  one  of  those  popular  books  on  astronomy 
which  put  so  clearly  before  the  reader  the  main  principles 
of  the  working  of  the  stellar  universe,  I used  to  read  it 
by  day,  and  in  the  long  hours  of  the  night  march  ponder 
over  the  meaning  of  what  I had  read.  There,  far  away 
in  the  desert,  there  was  little  to  disturb  the  outward  flow 
of  feeling  towards  Nature.  There,  before  me,  was  nothing 
hut  Nature.  The  boundless  plain  beneath,  and  the  starry 
skies  above.  And  skies,  too,  such  as  are  not  to  be  seen 
in  the  murky  atmospheres  of  the  less  pure  regions  of  the 
earth,  but  clear  and  bright  as  they  can  only  be  in  the  far, 
original  depths  of  Nature.  In  those  pure  skies  the  stars 
shone  out  in  unrivalled  brilliancy,  and  hour  after  hour, 
through  the  long  nights,  I would  watch  them  in  their 
courses  over  the  heavens,  and  think  on  what  they  are  and 
what  they  represent,  and  try  to  realise  the  place  which  we 
men  hold  in  the  universe  stretched  out  before  me. 

In  the  busy  world  of  civilisation  the  truths  of  science 
seem  to  leave  little  impression.  We  have  so  much  else 
to  think  of,  so  much  beside  to  occupy  our  attention,  that 
they  excite  only  a momentary  feeling  of  wonder,  and  we 


314  IMPRESSIONS  OF  TRAVEL  [chap. 

are  inclined  to  think  that,  after  all,  it  is  a matter  of  small 
consequence  what  lies  beyond  our  little  world.  But  when 
we  have  been  for  months  cut  off  from  civilisation,  when 
there  are  none  of  the  distractions  of  daily  life  to  arrest 
our  attention,  then,  in  the  midst  of  the  desert,  or  deep  in 
the  heart  of  the  mountains,  these  truths  approach  realities. 
Then  it  is  that  we  think  over  the  facts  which  the  science 
of  astronomy  presents.  The  distance  of  the  stars,  so 
great  in  certain  cases  that  the  light  from  them,  travelling 
at  the  rate  of  one  hundred  and  eighty-six  thousand  miles 
in  every  second,  must  have  started  before  the  birth  of 
Christ  to  reach  the  earth  in  our  day  ; and  their  numbers, 
which  are  reckoned  not  by  thousands,  but  by  hundreds 
of  millions,  will  furnish  instances  of  the  truths  to  which  I 
allude. 

Such,  we  are  told,  are  the  distances  and  number  of  the 
stars ; and  their  size,  and  the  speed  at  which  they  are 
travelling,  are  equally  marvellous.  But  what  is  beyond 
them  ? Say  we  could  travel  to  the  very  furthest  star  that 
is  to  be  seen  from  the  earth,  what  is  beyond  that?  Is 
that  star  the  limit  of  everything?  is  there  yet  another 
hundred  million  stars  beyond?  Then,  again,  when  we 
learn  that  all  this  world,  and  the  sun  and  the  stars,  came 
from  a vast  expanse  of  nebulous  gas,  where  did  that  gas 
come  from  ? And  what  will  happen  to  all  these  myriads 
of  worlds?  It  is  said  that  the  earth  will  become  cold, 
barren,  and  lifeless  as  the  moon,  and  then  be  drawn  into 
the  sun,  which  itself  will  have  expended  the  last  ray  of 
heat  it  has  been  giving  out  for  millions  of  years,  and  will 
go  whirling  through  space,  a cold,  dead,  lifeless  star. 
Is  every  star  to  burn  itself  out  like  this,  till  the  whole 
universe  is  a whirling  vortex  of  dead  worlds?  or  are  life 
and  heat  to  come  to  them  again  by  impact  with  one 
another,  or  in  some  yet  unknown  manner? 

Then,  in  the  present,  what  is  happening  in  these  worlds 
around  us?  When  I visited  the  secluded  little  state  of 
Hunza,  whose  inhabitants  were  shut  out  by  the  moun- 
tains from  contact  with  outside  peoples  and  countries,  I 
found  they  thought  that  the  world  only  consisted  of  a few 


XVIl] 


MAN  AND  SUPERMAN 


315 

neighbouring  valleys,  and  that  no  higher  race  than  them- 
selves existed.  They  could  form  no  conception  of  such 
vast  plains  of  cultivated  land  as  are  seen  in  India ; they 
could  imagine  nothing  like  the  ocean  ; a railway  and  a 
telegraph  would  have  seemed  supernatural  to  them,  and 
men  who  could  invent  and  work  such  things  as  of  an 
altogether  superior  order  to  themselves.  We  men  on 
this  earth  are  in  as  remote  a corner  of  the  universe  as 
Hunza  is  in  this  world  ; among'  the  millions  of  worlds 
around  us,  there  must  be  living  beings  of  some  sort,  and, 
among  them  all,  may  there  not,  perhaps,  be  some  who 
are  superior  to  ourselves?  Man  is  the  highest  form  of 
living  being  in  this  single  little  world  of  ours — this  little 
speck,  which  is  to  the  universe  as  the  smallest  grain  of 
sand  to  the  stretch  of  the  seashore.  But  is  he  the  highest 
in  the  whole  universe?  Are  not  the  probabilities  over- 
whelmingly in  favour  of  his  not  being  so?  Would  it  not 
be  the  veriest  chance,  if  among  all  these  millions  of 
worlds,  this  one  on  which  we  live  should  have  happened 
to  develop  the  highest  being?  Thinking  on  all  this,  one 
cannot  help  believing  that,  in  some  few  at  least  of  those 
myriads  of  worlds,  there  may  be  more  perfect  beings  than 
ourselves.  There,  there  may  be  beings  with  the  senses 
more  highly  developed,  who  could  see,  for  instance,  with 
the  power  of  our  telescopes  and  microscopes ; beings, 
again,  who  had  still  other  senses  than  we  possess,  who 
might  have  the  power,  after  which  we  seem  to  be  dimly 
groping,  of  reading  the  thoughts  of  others,  and  directly 
communicating  with  others  at  a distance.  Or,  again, 
beings  whose  lives,  reckoned  by  centuries  instead  of 
single  years,  could  accumulate  experience  and  knowledge 
such  as  we  never  can  in  our  fleeting  threescore  years  and 
ten.  And,  lastly,  amid  all  these  millions  of  worlds,  may 
we  not  conceive  of  societies  as  superior  to  our  own  as 
ours  is  to  the  savage  tribes  about  us  — societies  where 
culture  of  the  mind,  where  sympathy  and  love,  and  all 
that  is  noblest  in  man’s  moral  nature,  have  attained  their 
highest  development,  and  are  given  fullest  play? 

In  many  such  ways  as  these,  may  we  not  imagine 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  TRAVEL 


ii6 


[chap. 


beings  more  perfect  than  ourselves  to  exist  in  the  realms 
of  light  above  ? And,  fanciful  as  these  conjectures  may 
seem,  they  are  in  no  way  beyond  the  bounds  of  possi- 
bility, and  indulgence  in  such  fancies  is  of  deep  practical 
use  in  making  us  realise  more  clearly  what  our  true 
position  in  the  vast  universe  really  is.  The  simple 
nomads,  whom  from  time  to  time  I used  to  meet  in  the 
desert,  looking  up  into  the  heavens  with  a keenness  of 
sight  such  as  is  only  granted  to  these  dwellers  in  the 
wilderness,  saw  only  a number  of  bright  specks,  which 
one  by  one  disappeared  below  the  horizon,  and  reap- 
peared in  apparently  the  same  places  on  the  following 
evening.  Towards  morning  they  would  see  a round  of 
light  appear,  which  would  slowly  pass  across  the  sky  and 
disappear,  like  the  stars,  below  the  western  horizon. 
Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  the  same  process  would 
be  repeated,  the  stars  by  night  and  the  sun  by  day, 
coursing  over  the  heavens. 

And  what  did  these  children  of  the  desert  think  of 
these  phenomena  ? Simply  this,  that  what  they  seemed 
to  see  was  really  what  they  saw — that  the  small  ball  of  fire 
by  day  and  these  little  specks  of  light  by  night,  went 
round  and  round  this  great  flat  plain  which  constituted 
their  world,  appearing  above  it  in  the  east,  ascending  high 
overhead,  and  then  sinking  beneath  it  once  more  in  the 
west.  They  knew  not  that  that  ball  of  fire  was  made  of 
the  same  materials  as  their  desert  tracts,  or  that,  indeed, 
those  very  tracts  were  part  of  that  ball  of  fire.  They  had 
no  conception  that  this  sun  was  a million  times  as  far 
from  them  as  the  most  distant  hill  they  could  see — a 
million  times  as  far  away  as  the  longest  day’s  march  they 
had  ever  made.  They  had  never  supposed  that  that 
seemingly  small  ball  of  fire  was  millions  of  times  as  great 
as  the  round  of  their  horizon,  vast  as  that  desert  horizon 
appears.  And  in  their  highest  flights  of  imagination  they 
had  never  thought  those  little  specks  of  light  were  greater 
worlds  still — greater  and  infinitely  more  distant ; or  that, 
besides  those  few  thousands  which  they  could  see  with 
their  eyes,  there  were  millions  and  millions  beyond. 


xvii]  THROUGH  NATURE  TO  GOD  317 

And  if  we  know  so  much  more  than  these  primitive 
peoples,  it  is  simply  because  those  who  have  gone  before 
have  thought,  and  reasoned,  and  given  play  to  their 
imagination,  and  have  recorded  their  thoughts  to  help  on 
those  who  will  follow  after.  It  is  not  so  many  centuries 
ago  that  the  most  learned  men  in  Europe  would  have  told 
us  that  we  could  never  hope  to  know  what  the  sun  was 
made  of,  still  less  what  were  the  materials  of  the  stars. 
And  yet,  little  by  little,  these  and  other  secrets  have  been 
forced  out  of  Nature.  Men  have  watched  her,  studied  her 
every  movement,  marked  each  down,  and  thought  over 
it,  till  Nature  could  no  longer  conceal  what  had  been 
hidden  in  her  breast  during  all  the  long  ages  of  the  past, 
and  so  it  is  we  now  know  what  we  do  know.  So  it  is  that 
the  cultured  European  is  able  to  realise  so  much  better 
than  these  simple  nomads  what  our  true  position  in  the 
universe  is  ; and,  realising  this,  to  have  higher  and  more 
enlarged  ideas  of  the  character  of  its  Creator  and  Ruler. 

In  the  long  night  marches  in  the  desert,  my  thoughts 
turned  chiefly  on  the  relations  of  this  world  with  the 
worlds  of  space.  Of  the  magnitude  of  this  our  own 
world,  my  best  idea  was  formed  from  observation  of  high 
mountains.  In  the  pages  of  this  book  I have  described 
many  a scene  among  the  Himalayas  where  I stood  spell- 
bound at  the  height  and  grandeur  of  the  mountains.  I 
see  before  me  now  the  Tian-shan — the  “ Heavenly  Moun- 
tains as  I saw  them  from  the  Gobi  Desert,  their  white 
summits  forming  part  of  heaven  itself,  and  their  base 
rooted  in  the  broad  bosom  of  the  desert.  I recall  to  my 
mind  the  sight  of  the  Pamir  Mountains,  the  outer  wall  of 
the  “ Roof  of  the  World,”  viewed  from  the  plains  of 
Turkestan,  and  rising  from  them  like  one  vast  rampart. 
I think  of  the  Mustagh — the  “ Ice  Mountains  ” — rising  tier 
upon  tier  before  me,  and  the  great  peak  K.2,  the  second 
highest  mountain  in  the  world,  soaring  above  all  the  rest. 
I remember  the  Nanga  Parbat — the  “Naked  Mountain” 
— seen  across  the  lovely  vale  of  Kashmir,  or,  again,  from 
the  banks  of  the  river  Indus,  above  which  it  rises  for 
twenty-three  thousand  feet  in  one  continuous  slope.  All 


3i8  impressions  OF  TRAVEL  [chap. 

these  scenes  I recall,  and  many  others  with  them — the 
Rakapushi  Peak  in  Hunza,  and  the  Tirich  Mir  in  Chitral, 
each  of  them  twenty-five  thousand  feet  above  sea-level ; 
and  I think  of  the  first  sight  I ever  had  of  high  snow- 
mountains,  when  from  the  Juras  I looked  across  to  the 
Mont  Blanc  range,  and  could  not  at  first  believe  that  the 
snowy  summits  were  not  clouds,  so  high  above  this  earth 
did  they  appear.  Mont  Blanc  was  but  a little  mountain 
in  comparison  with  the  giants  I afterwards  saw  in  the 
Himalayas,  and  yet  even  these,  we  find,  are  mere  rough- 
nesses on  the  surface  in  comparison  with  the  whole 
volume  of  the  earth.  Of  such  enormous  size  is  this 
world — this  world,  which  in  proportion  to  the  sun  is  as 
a pin’s  head  beside  an  orange,  and,  in  relation  to  the 
starry  universe,  but  as  a drop  of  water  in  comparison  with 
the  Atlantic  Ocean — that  mountain  heights  which  appal 
men  by  their  magnitude  are  to  it  but  as  the  roughnesses 
on  the  peel  of  an  orange  to  the  whole  fruit.  No  wonder, 
then,  that  these  minute  excrescences,  which  we  call  mighty 
mountains,  are  soon  washed  down.  To  us  they  seem  so 
immense  as  to  be  absolutely  immovable  and  unchangeable. 
In  comparison  with  the  whole  mass  of  the  world  they  are 
nothing,  and  in  a bird’s-eye  view  of  the  entire  earth  they 
would  be  scarcely  perceptible.  Here,  then,  we  have  a 
scale  upon  which  to  base  our  views  of  the  universe,  and 
again  we  are  reminded  of  its  inconceivable  proportions. 

And  from  those  cold  mountain  solitudes,  from  the  lonely 
desert  tracts,  the  thoughts  are  brought  back  to  scenes 
of  busy  life — the  crowded  haunts  of  men,  the  teeming 
swarms  of  animal  life,  and  the  varied  types  of  the  veget- 
able kingdom  ; and  I think  of  the  forests  in  Manchuria, 
with  all  their  numerous  life  crowded  into  the  brief  summer 
season — the  huge  oak  trees,  the  tall  elms ; the  birches, 
firs,  and  pines  ; and  all  the  wealth  of  flowery  beauty,  the 
lilies,  irises,  and  columbines,  in  sheets  of  colour  : of  the 
river-banks  and  waters  of  the  lakes,  teeming  with  animal 
life  of  every  kind — the  thousands  of  duck  and  geese  and 
snipe,  and  every  form  of  waterfowl  in  countless  numbers; 
the  swarms  of  insect  life  ; the  great  droves  of  ponies  on 


EVOLUTION 


xvii] 


319 


the  steppes  ; and  the  herds  of  graceful  antelopes  : — I 
think  of  these,  and  of  all  the  varied  races  of  mankind  with 
whom  I have  been  brought  in  contact — the  cold,  un- 
attractive, but  intelligent  and  thrifty  Chinamen  ; the 
dreamy,  listless  nomads  of  Mongolia  ; the  lethargic  men 
of  Turkestan  ; the  rough,  hardy  races  of  the  Himalayas  ; 
the  impressionable  Chitralis  ; the  trusty  Sikhs  ; and  the 
jovial  little  Gurkhas : — and  there  comes  the  remembrance 
of  the  latest  scientific  truth,  that  all  this  varied  life,  from 
the  lowliest  plant,  from  the  minutest  insect,  to  the  sharp- 
witted  Chinamen  and  to  the  highest  civilised  races,  are 
all  but  branches  from  the  same  original  forms  of  life. 
While  the  mountains  have  been  slowly  raised  from  their 
birthplace  in  the  ocean-beds,  then  washed  down  again 
and  others  raised  in  their  place,  during  all  these  millions 
of  years,  animal  and  vegetable  have  been  developing,  first, 
like  the  mountains,  beneath  the  waters  of  the  sea,  and 
afterwards  in  the  continental  tracts  of  land. 

And  with  the  idea  of  evolution  thoroughly  engrafted 
into  the  mind,  as  it  must  be  on  reading  any  of  the  books 
of  science  which  a traveller  naturally  takes  up,  the 
observer  of  varied  races  of  mankind  finds  himself  con- 
sidering how  these  races  are  developing,  to  what  goal 
they  are  progressing,  and  upon  what  lines  their  evolution 
is  taking  place.  And  especially  interesting  is  the  ques- 
tion raised  by  the  study  of  these  various  stages  of  human 
evolution  ; whether  the  race  is  developing  intellectually, 
or  whether  its  development,  not  being  towards  an  in- 
creased intellectual  capacity  in  the  individual,  is  rather 
in  the  direction  of  a higher  moral  nature.  And  in  this 
matter  my  observations  seem  to  corroborate  the  views  put 
forward  by  Mr.  Benjamin  Kidd,  that  the  development 
now  is  not  primarily  intellectual,  but  rather  moral  and 
religious  ; that  since  man  has  become  a social  creature, 
the  development  of  his  intellectual  character  has  become 
subordinate  to  the  development  of  his  religious  character. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  a traveller  to  have  opportunities 
of  mixing,  on  and  after  his  journey,  with  persons  in 
every  grade  of  the  social  scale,  and  of  every  degree  of 


320  IMPRESSIONS  OF  TRAVEL  [chap, 

intellectual  capacity.  During  his  travels  he  frequently 
associates  with  men  who  are  little  better  than  beasts 
of  burden,  and  on  his  return  he  meets  with  statesmen, 
men  of  science,  and  men  of  letters  of  the  first  rank  in 
the  most  civilised  countries  of  the  world.  He  sees  every 
step  of  the  ladder  of  human  progress.  And,  so  far  as 
I have  been  able  to  make  use  of  my  opportunities  of 
observation,  I have  not  been  impressed  with  any  great 
mental  superiority  of  the  most  highly  developed  races 
of  Europe  over  lower  races  with  whom  I have  been 
brought  in  contact.  In  mere  brain-power  and  intel- 
lectual capacity  there  seems  no  great  difference  between 
the  civilised  European  and,  say,  the  rough  hill-tribesman 
of  the  Himalayas ; and,  in  regard  to  the  Chinaman,  I 
should  even  say  that  the  advantage  lay  on  his  side.  In 
the  rude  hill  states  of  Hunza  and  Chitral,  among  men 
whose  natural  endowments  I have  had  some  means  of 
judging,  for  I have  been  in  contact  with  them  for 
months,  and  engaged  with  them  in  the  transaction  of 
business  where  their  intellectual  capacity  might  well  be 
observed,  I have  remarked  that  the  average  ability  is 
certainly  not  inferior  to  the  average  of  a European 
people.  One  meets  there  with  shrewd,  sharp,  intelligent 
men  who,  with  regard  to  any  of  their  own  concerns,  or 
any  subject  with  which  they  have  some  acquaintance,  can 
grasp  points  quickly,  and  give  their  answers  directly  and 
comprehensively  ; men  with  excellent  memories,  and  with 
a power  of  speech,  and,  amongst  themselves,  a quickness 
of  repartee,  certainly  not  inferior  to  that  of  a European. 
Amongst  the  races  of  India,  and  with  the  Chinese,  this 
is  still  more  noticeable.  The  European  may  feel  his 
moral  superiority  over  them,  but  in  sharpness  of  intellect 
there  seems  little  to  choose  between  the  two.  The  brain 
capacities  of  these  less-civilised  races  are  no  smaller,  and 
their  mental  abilities  are  no  less. 

On  the  other  hand,  no  European  can  mix  with  non- 
Christian  races  without  feeling  his  moral  superiority 
over  them.  He  feels,  from  the  first  contact  with  them, 
that,  whatever  may  be  their  relative  positions  from  an 


XVIl] 


THE  POWER  OF  SYMPATHY 


321 


intellectual  point  of  view,  he  is  stronger  morally  than 
they  are.  And  facts  show  that  this  feeling  is  a true  one. 
It  is  not  because  we  are  any  cleverer  than  the  natives  of 
India,  because  we  have  more  brains  or  bigger  heads 
than  they  have,  that  we  rule  India  ; but  because  we  are 
stronger  morally.  Our  superiority  over  them  is  not  due 
to  mere  sharpness  of  intellect,  but  to  that  higher  moral 
nature  to  which  we  have  attained  in  the  development  of 
the  human  race. 

What,  for  instance,  was  the  power  by  which  six  British 
officers  shut  up  in  Chitral  fort,  hundreds  of  miles  from 
the  nearest  British  soldier,  and  with  only  native  troops  to 
rely  on,  were  able  to  evoke  such  attachment  from  these 
men  of  the  very  same  races  who  had,  forty  or  fifty  years 
before,  fought  desperately  against  the  British,  that  those 
men  stood  by  them  for  seven  long  weeks,  against  thou- 
sands of  the  enemy,  till  succour  came?  And  how  was 
it  that  the  few  British  officers  under  Colonel  Kelly  were 
able,  without  the  assistance  of  a single  British  soldier, 
and  with  none  but  these  same  men  of  India  who  had 
formerly  opposed  us  so  resolutely,  to  afford  that  timely 
succour  to  the  Chitral  garrison?  Englishmen  at  home  must 
often  have  wondered  how  this  is  done,  and  those  who  have 
been  in  the  position  of  having  to  rely  upon  this  power, 
whatever  it  is,  have  equally  wondered  what  it  can  be. 

It  cannot  be  solely  because  he  is  more  brave  than  the 
men  he  controls  that  the  Englishman  is  able  to  carry  on 
this  work,  for  there  are  races  in  India  scarcely  less  brave 
than  the  English.  Few  races  on  the  earth  can  excel  in 
bravery  the  Sikhs  and  the  Gurkhas,  and  no  amount  of 
bravery  alone  would  have  preserved  the  British  officers 
in  the  Chitral  fort.  Nor  can  it  be  because  the  English- 
man is  able  to  pay  the  men  to  do  as  he  wishes  ; for 
he  does  not  pay  them  ; they  pay  themselves.  He  does 
not  take  a single  shilling  from  England  to  pay  the 
natives  of  India  to  fight  for  him  ; he,  in  fact,  makes  the 
natives  of  India  pay  him.  Every  English  officer  and 
soldier  receives  his  pay  from  revenue  drawn  from  the 
natives  of  India  ; so  the  Englishman  does  not  pay  the 


Y 


322 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  TRAVEL 


[chap. 

natives  to  fight  for  him,  but  they  actually  pay  him  to 
control  them ! There  must,  therefore,  be  some  other  means 
by  which  we  in  India  are  able  to  hold  so  great  an  empire 
by  such  apparently  inadequate  methods,  and  to  my  mind 
it  seems  that  the  chief,  if  it  cannot  be  considered  the  only, 
power  by  which  we  do  so,  is  the  power  of  sympathy. 

Let  a stranger  go  anywhere  outside  the  barracks  of  the 
seventy  thousand  British  troops  in  India,  and  watch  those 
Englishmen  who  are  employed  in  direct  dealings  with  the 
natives  of  India.  Let  him  go  to  a native  regiment,  or  to 
a civil  district,  or  to  a political  agency  in  a native  state, 
and  watch  the  officer  who  is  engaged  on  behalf  of 
Government  in  dealing  with  the  crowd  of  natives  around 
him.  If  the  stranger  looks  sufficiently  carefully,  he  will 
see  that,  in  spite  of  the  Englishman’s  cold,  “stand- 
offish ” exterior,  he  has  the  interests  of  the  natives  under 
his  charge  very  deeply  at  heart.  He  may  not  “fraternise” 
with  the  natives,  and  as  likely  as  not  he  will  tell  the 
stranger  that  a native  of  India  can  never  be  trusted  ; but, 
in  spite  of  that,  he  will  trust  those  particular  natives  who 
are  under  himself,  and  will  look  very  sharply  after  their 
interests.  If  they  are  attacked  in  any  way,  or  any  sem- 
blance of  an  injustice  is  attempted  on  them,  he  will  stand 
up  for  them,  often  against  his  own  Government ; and 
many  cases  might  be  mentioned  where  he  has  even  laid 
down  his  life  in  proof  of  his  trust  in  them. 

This  regard  for  the  interests  of  those  whom  he  governs 
is  one  of  the  most  characteristic  features  of  the  English- 
man’s rule  in  India.  Wherever  an  Englishman  is  left 
long  enough  in  the  same  position,  it  will  nearly  always 
be  found  that  his  sympathies  go  out  to  those  under  him, 
often  to  the  extent  of  opposing  his  superiors.  And  we 
have  recently  seen  an  ex-Viceroy  and  a Secretary  of  State 
for  India  declaring,  the  one  in  the  House  of  Lords  and 
the  other  in  the  House  of  Commons,  that  even  before  our 
own  interests  the  interests  of  those  we  govern  must  first 
be  looked  to.  And  that  this  same  principle  of  showing 
sympathy  to  those  we  govern  is  not  merely  enunciated  as 
an  empty  platitude  by  statesmen  living  here  in  England, 


HOW  WE  HOLD  INDIA 


323 


xvii] 

but  that  it  is  actually  carried  into  practice,  every  one 
must  acknowledge  who  thinks  of  those  men  in  the 
stirring  days  of  the  Mutiny,  who  showed  to  what  extent 
they  really  believed  in  the  native  soldiers  under  them,  by 
going  amongst  them  while  other  regiments  all  round 
were  in  a state  of  mutiny,  telling  those  who  maligned 
their  men  that  they  would  not  believe  a word  that  was 
said  against  them,  and  then  going  down  to  their  men’s 
lines,  and  by  their  very  display  of  trust  and  confidence, 
keeping  their  men  in  subordination.  Death  overtook 
these  officers  only  too  frequently.  But  that  the  principle 
on  which  they  acted  was  a true  one  is  shown  by  the 
multitude  of  cases  in  which  it  was  successful,  and  by 
the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  experiences  where  officers  have 
suffered  for  their  confidence,  we  still  find  it  successful, 
and  at  Chitral,  in  1895,  we  have  had,  perhaps,  the  most 
remarkable  instance  on  record  of  its  inherent  truth  and 
soundness. 

This,  then,  is  the  chief  power  by  which  we  hold  India, 
this  power  of  sympathy,  this  deep-rooted  tendency  in  us 
to  watch  over  the  interests  of  those  whom  we  control. 
It  is  by  using  this  to  supplement  mere  physical  courage 
that  we  are  able  to  control  the  millions  of  India.  We 
do  still  require  physical  force  in  addition,  but  the  power 
of  sympathy  must  always  be  the  paramount  influence  ; 
no  weak  sentimentality,  but  sympathy  and  moral  courage, 
such  as  “our  simple  great  ones  gone”  have  practically 
shown  in  days  gone  by.  It  is  because  we  have  this  as 
our  ideal,  and  because  in  the  history  of  India  we  have 
selected  for  dealing  directly  with  the  natives,  not  merely 
clever  men  any  more  than  physically  strong  men,  but 
good  men,  such  as  the  Lawrences,  Nicholson,  and 
Edwardes,  with  unflinching  moral  purpose  and  capacity 
for  sympathy,  that  we  have  gained  the  position  we  hold. 
It  is  a well-recognised  fact,  too,  amongst  those  English- 
men who  have  had  dealings  with  Asiatics,  that  if  once 
the  European  gives  up  his  higher  moral  standard,  and 
descends  to  intriguing  with  Asiatics,  and  engaging  with 
them  in  cunning  intellectual  fencing,  the  chances  are 


324  IMPRESSIONS  OF  TRAVEL  [chap. 

very  much  in  favour  of  his  being  worsted.  It  is  not  so 
in  every  case,  for  there  are,  of  course,  Europeans  just  as 
nimble-minded  and  subtle  as  Asiatics  ; but  in  the  over- 
whelming majority  of  cases,  the  sharp-witted  Asiatic 
wins.  On  the  other  hand,  where  real  influence  has  been 
gained  by  the  European  over  Asiatics,  it  has  been  due 
to  his  straightness  and  strength  of  moral  character,  and 
not  to  any  original  intellectual  superiority.  The  European 
shows  his  greater  moral  strength  by  his  tenacity  of  pur- 
pose, his  persistence  in  the  object  he  has  before  him,  his 
disregard  of  selfish  interests  in  the  advancement  of  that 
object,  and  his  sympathy  with  those  about  him.  These 
characteristics  of  a higher  moral  development  enable  him 
to  win  the  day  in  his  competition  with  men  of  natural 
capacity  equal  to  his  own,  who  fail  in  the  struggle  because 
they  have  not  the  same  “grit”  or  resolution,  and,  above 
all,  because  they  do  not  practise  that  abnegation  of  self 
in  the  interest  of  others,  and  that  sympathy  with  those 
about  them  which  have  been  inculcated  into  the  European 
races  by  the  teaching  of  the  Christian  religion.  Europeans 
are  anything  but  perfect  in  the  practice  of  these  principles, 
but  when  we  hear  of  a wounded  British  officer*  dismount- 
ing from  his  pony  and  insisting  upon  his  wounded  com- 
rade, a native  soldier,  mounting  it  in  his  stead  and  riding 
back  to  safety,  while  he  walked,  although  the  enemy  were 
firing  from  all  sides,  then  we  know  that  such  principles 
are  sometimes  applied,  and  it  is  because  they  are  more 
frequently  and  more  thoroughly  applied  by  the  Christian 
than  by  the  non-Christian  races  of  the  world  that  the 
former  have  been  able  to  establish  their  superiority  over 
the  latter. 

If  this  conclusion,  based  upon  experiences  with  men 
of  many  different  races,  is  right,  it  furnishes  a strong 
argument  in  support  of  the  opinion  that  the  development 
of  the  human  race  is  now,  not  towards  bigger  heads, 
with  cold,  subtle  brains,  but  towards  larger  hearts,  with 
warmer,  fuller  blood  flowing  through  them.  The  develop- 
ment now  is  of  man  as  a social  being,  and  in  the  keen 

* Lieutenant  Fowler,  R.E.,  at  Reshun,  in  Chitral. 


XVIl] 


MAN  AS  A SOCIAL  BEING 


325 


struggle  of  societies  for  existence,  that  society  will  win 
whose  members  are  able  to  subordinate  most  thoroughly 
their  own  individual  interests  to  the  well-being  of  the 
whole  society  to  which  they  belong.  Nowhere  has  this 
principle  been  more  deeply  impressed  than  on  the  society 
formed  by  the  Christian  religion  ; and  may  we  not  then 
conclude  that,  if  that  society  now  finds  itself  foremost  in 
all  the  societies  of  the  world,  it  is  so  because  of  the  in- 
herent superiority  of  the  principles  which  it  professes? 

These  are  the  thoughts  that  fill  me  as  I bring  together 
in  one  focus  the  various  impressions  of  Nature  and  of  Man 
that  have,  during  ten  years’  wanderings,  formed  them- 
selves upon  my  mind.  And  here  I will  close  this  narrative, 
these  last  words  of  which  I am  writing  on  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,*  far  away  from  the  scenes  I have  depicted,  as  I 
approach  the  shores  of  Africa,  the  field,  maybe,  of  yet 
further  explorations  to  come.  Hardships  I necessarily 
had  in  the  course  of  those  travels,  and,  to  a certain 
degree,  danger  also,  but  never  once  now  do  I regret 
leaving  those  comforts  of  my  native  land,  now  more 
appreciated  than  ever,  to  wander  amid  the  real  haunts  of 
Nature.  Forgotten  now  are  all  the  trials ; dimmer  and 
dimmer  do  they  become  as  they  recede  into  the  back- 
ground. But  the  keen  pleasure  of  travel  remains,  and 
the  impressions  of  Nature  live  and  grow  for  ever.  Nature, 
when  once  she  has  revealed  herself,  impresses  herself  more 
deeply  on  us  with  each  succeeding  year. 

“ ’Tis  her  privilegfe, 

Through  all  the  years  of  this  our  life,  to  lead 
From  joy  to  joy  : for  she  can  so  inform 
The  mind  that  is  within  us,  so  impress 
With  quietness  and  beauty,  and  so  feed 
With  lofty  thoughts,  that  neither  evil  tongues. 

Rash  judgments,  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men. 

Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all 
The  dreary  intercourse  of  daily  life. 

Shall  e’er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 
Our  cheerful  faith,  that  all  which  we  behold 
Is  full  of  blessings.” 

* On  the  way  to  South  Africa  in  1895. 


INDEX 


A 

Abbottabad,  187 

Abdul  Rahman,  Amir,  140,  273 

Afdigar,  230 

Afghanistan,  the  retirement  from,  in 
1881,  274 

Afghans,  manliness  of,  139 
Aghil  Pass,  157,  206 

Range,  202,  206 

Ai  hu’  River,  the,  6 
Akal  Jan,  a Kirghiz,  233 
Ak-baital  River,  265 
Ak-berdi  Pass,  267,  288 
Ak-chak,  133,  262 
Akois,  199 
Aksakals,  138 
Aksu,  129 

River,  130,  264 

Aktagh  Range,  202 
Aktash,  244,  262 

Alichur  Pamir,  259,  263 ; principal 
routes  leading  to,  264 
River,  263 

Allen,  Mr.,  British  Consul  at  New- 
chwang,  7,  46 
Altai  Mountains,  92,  97,  99 
Amur  River,  16 

Andijani  merchants,  116;  silk,  117 
Aral,  130 

Arbap,  or  governor,  of  Hunza,  247 
Artysh,  136,  137 
Ashkuman  River,  291,  299 
Asia,  Central,  characteristics  of  the 
traders  of,  273 ; their  opinion  of 
the  respective  merits  of  the  British 
and  Russian  rule,  274 ; comparative 
strength  of  the  two  powers,  274 


Askoli  village,  150,  i66,  175 
Avalanches,  danger  from,  21 1 


B 

Bai,  128 

Baijik  Pass,  244 
Baikra  Pass,  291 
Baltis,  the,  145,  178 
Baltistan,  178,  207 
Baltit,  253 
Baltoro  Glacier,  173 
Barkul,  104 
Baroghil  Pass,  291 
Baroso-khai  Peak,  88,  93 
Barratt,  Captain,  301 
Bash  Gumbaz,  263,  264 
Bautu,  caravan  from,  84,  87 
Bazar  Darra  River,  204 

valley,  153 

Beech,  Mr.,  256,  279,  280 
Bell,  Colonel,  55,  150,  183  ; his 
travels,  109 ; his  letter  from  the 
Karakoram  Pass,  145 
Bellew,  Dr.,  151 
Benderski,  291 
Blanc,  M.  E. , 277 
Bortson  well,  85 
Bower,  Captain,  185,  196 

-,  Lieutenant,  234,  239,  242 

Bozai-Gumbaz,  289,  292-4 
Braldo  River,  177 

Brenan,  Mr.  Byron,  Consul  at  Tient- 
sin, 52 

Brigands,  resort  of,  94 
Bulun-kul  Lake,  287,  288 
Burzil  Pass,  254,  300 


326 


INDEX 


327 


Bu-yur,  126 
Buzilla  Jai,  264 

C 

Cairns,  95 
Camels,  white,  129 
Camels,  wild,  on  the  Altai  Range, 
97 

Card,  M.,  24 
Carey,  Mr.,  4,  145 
Chadir  Tash,  262 

Chang-pai-shan,  or  “ Ever-White 
Mountain,”  5,  13,  79 
Chang-san,  the  interpreter,  73 
Chapman,  General,  Quartermaster- 
General  in  India,  182 
China  Inland  Mission,  the,  66 
, the  Great  Wall  of,  49,  59;  in- 
troduction of  railways  into,  51  ; 
the  missionary  question,  303-11 
Chinese  temples,  8 ; industry  of 
colonists,  10,  17,  48;  cooking,  18; 
characteristics,  19 ; carts  and 
mules,  28 ; mode  of  levying  troops, 
67  ; officials,  148,  271 

Turkestan,  285 

Ching-cheng,  107 
Chiraghsaldi  Pass,  151,  203,  204 
Chirag-tash,  or  Lamp  Rock,  266 
Chitral,  292 ; the  Mehtar  of,  309 ; 
Fort,  321 

Chong  Jangal,  206,  223,  226 
Christie,  Dr.,  44 
Chukshu,  205 

Clarke,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  W.,  66 
Cockerill,  Lieutenant,  232 
Collins,  Messrs.  G.  W.,  and  Co.,  of 
Tientsin,  76 
Conrad,  Herr,  235 
Conraux,  P^re,  French  missionary, 

24 

Conway,  Sir  William,  174 
Corea,  9 
Coreans,  37 

Cossacks,  appearance,  32,  33,  236 ; 

pay,  33,  238 
Crevasse  Glacier,  219 
Cumberland,  Major,  196,  234,  239 


D 

Dalgleish,  Mr.,  138,  145;  murdered, 
146 ; character,  146 ; memorial 
tablet,  196 
Darkot  Pass,  291 
Darwaza,  a Kanjuti  outpost,  227 
Dauvergne,  M.,  180,  196,  239 
Davison,  Lieutenant,  281,  288,  292, 
295,  299 ; his  attempt  to  cross  the 
Mustagh  Pass,  281-4 ! death,  302 
Deer  (huang-yang),  herds  of,  78 
Depsang  Plains,  195 
Dharmsala,  i 
Diament,  Miss,  59 
Dogra  Invasion,  the,  178 
Drogpa,  150,  169,  177 
Dufferin,  Mount,  288 
Dunmore,  Lord,  261,  264 
Durand,  Sir  Mortimer,  185,  186 

, Captain,  198,  201,  254,  300 

Dust-storm,  89 

E 

Eagles,  hawking  with,  134 
Edgar,  Mr.,  Commissioner  of  China 
Customs,  46 

Elias,  Mr.  Ney,  56  note,  71,  185,  256, 
263 

Eurh-pu  village,  112 
Ever-White  Mountain,  the,  5,  14 ; 
its  height,  14 ; meadows,  16 ; 
lake,  16 

F 

“Feng-shui,”  superstition  of,  52 
Forsyth,  Sir  Douglas,  127 

Mission,  130,  131,  135,  147,  157, 

256 

Fulford,  H.,  5,  40,  46 
G 

Gad-flies,  12 
Galpin  Gobi,  83,  85,  86 
Gez  Defile,  286 
Gez  River,  287 
Ghazan  Khan,  249 
Gilgit,  254,  292,  295,  300 
Ginseng  plant  seekers,  12 
Gircha,  248 


328 


INDEX 


Glaciers,  i6i,  171,  174,  207,210,  215, 
219,  249,  296,  297,  299 
Goatskin  rafts,  192 
Gobi  Desert,  56,  313  ; preparations 
for  crossing  the,  70-2  ; monotony 
of  the  marches,  80,  81 ; dryness  of 
the  atmosphere,  82  ; temperature, 
82 ; winds,  83 

Hills,  100 

Godwin-Austen,  Colonel,  165 
Gordon,  Colonel,  241,  256 
Gourbaun-Seikyn  Mountains,  93 
Grenard,  M.,  278 

Grombtchevsky,  Captain,  234,  235, 
244,  253,  257  ; on  the  Russian 
army,  237 
Guchen,  70 
Gulmit,  249 

Gurkhas,  escort  of,  187 ; average 
height,  237 

Gusherbrum  Mountain,  207,  208 
H 

Hajji,  the  Arab,  118 
Hami,  56,  71,  109 

Hayward,  i,  146,  147,  153,  157,  200, 

233 

“ Heavenly  Mountains,”  loi,  103 
Hedin,  Dr.  Sven,  217 
Hendriks,  P^re,  the  Dutch  mission- 
ary, 140,  279 

Hillier,  Mr.  Walter,  53,  61 
Himalayas,  first  tour  through  the,  2 
Hindu  Kush,  290,  298 
Ho-lai-liu  stream,  79 
Howorth,  Sir  Henry,  ni,  259 
Hsiao  Pachia-tzu,  Roman  Catholic 
mission  at,  41 
Hulan,  24 
Humayun,  248 
Hunchun,  30 

Hun-kua-ling  sandhills,  90 

Hun  tiing  River,  the,  6 

Hunza,  raiders  of,  186;  the  State  of, 

314 

Hurka  River,  28 
Hurku  Hills,  84,  86,  93 
Huru-su-tai,  88 


I 

I,  General,  31 
Ice-boat  sailing,  53 
Ilisu,  234,  239 
In-shan  Range,  75,  76 
Istigh  River,  the,  262 
Ivanoff,  M.,  60 

J 

James,  H.  E.  M.,  now  Sir,  3,  40,  46; 
“The  Long  White  Mountain,"  5, 
47 

Juma  Bai,  245 

K 

K.2  peak,  207,  214,  317 

Kabul,  Abdul  Rahman,  the  Amir  of, 

140,  273 

Kaiping,  50  ; coal-mine,  50 
Kalgan,  59 ; missionary  station  at, 
59  ; trade  of,  61 
Kalmaks,  encampments  of,  123 
Kangra  valley,  2 
Kanjut,  186 
Kanjuti  robbers,  152 
Kanjutis’  raids  on  the  Kirghiz,  192, 
197,  205,  206  ; outpost,  228  ; inter- 
view with,  229;  appearance,  229; 
terror  of  their  chief,  230 
Kara-art  Pass,  268 
Karachukur  stream,  244 
Kara-kara  Pass,  133 
Karakash  River,  206 
Karakoram  Mountains,  151,  158,  257 
Pass,  196 

Karakul  Lake,  the  Great,  267  ; the 
Little,  288 
Karashar,  122 

Karash-tarim  plain,  153,  204 
Karasu  Stream,  264 
Kargalik,  151 
Karul,  205 

Karumbar  River,  291,  300 
Kashgar,  137,  138,  268;  Chinese 
officials,  the  civil  governor,  270 ; 
the  general,  271  ; barracks,  272 

plain,  138 

Kashmir  Ranges,  the,  188 


INDEX 


329 


Kashmir  valley,  181,  189 
Kashmir,  state  of  the  army  in  1889, 
191 

, vale  of,  301 

Kaufmann  Peak,  267 
Kelly,  Colonel,  321 
Khaian-aksai,  234 
Khal  Chuskun,  202 
Khardung  Pass,  195 
Khargosh  Pass,  264 
Khoja  Mohammed  gorge,  153,  206 
Khojas,  an  inscription  commemorat- 
ing the  expulsion  of,  263 
Khora  Short  Pass,  290,  292,  298 
Khunjerab  Pass,  241,  242 
Kidd,  Mr.  Benjamin,  319 
Kieulung,  Emperor,  his  poem  on  the 
Ever- White  Mountain,  5 
Kilik  Pass,  294 

Kinder,  Mr.,  50;  introduces  railways 
into  China,  51 

Kirghiz,  a deputation  of,  197 
Kirghiz  encampments,  131-3,  288 ; 
apply  for  protection  against  the 
Hunza  raiders,  186;  account  of  the 
raid,  197 

Kirghiz  Jangal,  203 
Kirin,  17,  40  ; arsenal,  17,  18 
Kitai,  the,  123 
Kizil  Jek  Pass,  267 
Kobdo,  71 

Kokalang  Pass,  204 
Kokbai  Pass,  264 
Korlia,  123 

Kotwal,  the  Turk,  127 
Kuan-cheng-tzu,  41 
Kuch  Mohammed  Bey,  headman  of 
the  Pamir,  239,  241,  244 
KuchS  oasis,  126;  town,  127 
Kuenlun  Mountains,  151,  202,  204 
Kugiar  village,  150,  15 1 
Kukturuk  valley,  294,  296 
Kulanargu  River,  204 
Kulanuldi,  203 
Kulu  valley,  2 
Kurbu  Pass,  238 

Kwei-hwa-cheng,  59,  61,  68-70; 
China  Inland  Mission  at,  66 


L 

Ladak,  189 

, the  kyang  of,  97 

Ladakis,  150 
Leh,  190,  256 

to  Hunza,  question  of  transport, 

192  ; supplies,  193 
Leonard,  Mr.,  256,  279 
Liang-lang-shan  or  Eurh-lang-shan 
Mountains,  79 
Life  of  Christ,  a new,  181 
Litot,  P^re,  41 
Little  Pamir,  256,  259 
Liu-san,  Chinese  servant,  59,  88,  in, 
142,  167,  177,  183  ; his  propensity 
for  fibbing,  77;  his  “integrity,”  96 
Lob  Nor,  259 

Lockhart,  Colonel,  the  mission  of,  246 

, Sir  William,  3 

Loess  formation,  62 

Long  White  Mountain,  by  Mr. 

James,  5,  47 
Lutsch,  M.,  140,  269,  284 

M 

Macartney,  Mr.  George,  256, 280,  285 
Macgregor,  Sir  Charles,  Quarter- 
master-General in  India,  4 
Man-chin-tol,  95 

Manchuria,  4 ; climate,  47  ; mineral 
products,  47  ; population,  48 
Manners-Smith,  Lieutenant,  254 
Mao-erh-shan,  1 1 
Maralbashi,  279 
Marjunai  Pass,  264 
Markan-su,  268 
Masher-Brum  Peak,  174 
Ma-te-la,  the  Mongol  assistant,  74, 
88 ; his  work,  75  ; returning  home, 
98  ; his  wages,  98 
Maviel,  P^re,  41 
Meadows,  Mr.  Taylor,  48 
Mehtar  of  Chitral,  309 
Midges,  scourge  of,  12 
Mintaka  Aksai,  244 

Pass,  243,  246 

Misgah  village,  247 


33° 


INDEX 


Mission  stations  at  Hsiao-Pachia- 
tzu,  41  ; Kalgan,  59 ; Kwei-hwa- 
cheng-,  66  ; Mukden,  44 ; Pa-yen- 
su-su,  24 

Missionary  question  in  China,  303-11 
Mist,  a frozen,  43 
Mohamed  Esa,  150 
Mohammed  Nazim  Khan,  248,  253 
Moli-ho  stream,  78 
Mongol  lady,  a,  122 
Mongol  yurts  or  felt  tents,  64 ; 
hunters,  78 ; temples,  78 ; encamp- 
ments, 88 

Mongolia,  Plain  of,  62,  63  ; plateau, 
75,  86 ; pasture  lands,  76 ; camel 
wool,  76 

, steppes  of,  24 

Mongolian  ponies  and  mules,  42 
Morgai,  a Turk!  house,  104 
Mosquitoes,  scourge  of,  12,  13,  23 
Mukden,  7, 44;  temples  of,  8;  Scottish 
mission  at,  44  ; success  of,  46  note 
Murdock,  Miss,  59 
Murghabi,  265 
Murkush,  246 
Murree,  183,  188 
Musa,  the  Kirghiz,  192,  193 
Mustagh-ata,  the  Father  of  Moun- 
tains, 266,  268,  286,  287,  317 
Mustagh  Pass,  154,  158;  description 
of  the  crossing,  160,  i6i  ; the  Old, 
165  ; the  New,  165 
Range,  151,  213 

N 

Naked  Mountain,  188 

Nanga  Parbat  Mountain,  188,  317 

Nankow  gate,  59 

Newchwang,  5,  46 

Neza-tash  Pass,  259,  264 

Nilt,  254 

Ninguta,  28,  29,  40 
Nisbet,  Colonel  Parry,  188,  226 
Nizam-ul-Mulk,  the  Mehtar  of  Chit- 
ral,  309 
Nonni,  the,  22 
Notovitch,  M.  Nicolas,  180 
Novo-kievsk,  36 


Nubra  valley,  195 
Nurhachu,  tomb  of,  8 

O 

Oases,  99,  113,  126 
Opal,  268 
Oprang  Pass,  242 

River,  157,  158,  202,  206,  207, 

222,  224 
Osh,  292 

Ovis  argali,  size  of  the  horns,  100, 
106  ; head  of,  106 

poli  horns,  io2 

Oxus  River,  259,  289,  296 

P 

Pakhpu  race,  151 

Pakhpulu,  204 

Pamir  Agreement,  the,  294 

Mountains,  first  sight  of  the,  137 

Pamir-i-Wakhan,  289,  298 
Pamirs,  The,  256,  317;  the  Little, 
256,  259  ; the  Great,  256,  259  ; the 
Alichur,  259  ; formation,  261  ; 
meaning  of  the  word,  261 ; climate, 
261  ; inhabitants,  262 
Panja  River,  297 
valley,  292 

Passes,  133,  151,  157,  162,  165,  176, 
181,  189,  195-7,  200,  202-6,  231, 
238,  241-3,  246,  254,  259,  264,  267, 
268,  288,  289,  294,  299-301 
Pasu  Glacier,  249 
Pa-yen-su-su  mission  station,  24 
Peiho  River,  52 

Pei-lin-tzu,  Roman  Catholic  mission 
at,  24 

Peking,  53  ; British  legation  at,  53  ; 
Gazette,  despatches  of  the  Chinese 
commander  in,  68 

Petrovsky,  M.,  Russian  Consul  at 
Kashgar,  140,  269,  275,  284 ; his 
view  of  the  condition  of  England, 
275 ; on  the  treatment  of  natives, 
276  ; opinion  of  the  Chinese,  276 

, Madame,  269 

Petuna,  22 


INDEX 


331 


Pevstof,  the  Russian  traveller,  93, 
240 

Pi-chan,  113,  114 
Pidjan,  sand-range  at,  92 
Pievtsof,  Colonel,  240 
Pil,  204 

Possiet  Bay,  37 

Prjevalsky,  his  description  of  the 
Mongolian  camel,  76  note ; his 
route  over  the  Galpin  Gobi,  85  ; 
his  description  of,  86  ; spot  where 
he  crossed  the  Hurku  range,  93 
Punjab,  the,  plains  of,  183,  188 
Punmah  Glacier,  176 
Pyramids,  compared  with  Great 
Wall  of  China,  49 

R 

Raguit,  M.,  25 

Rahmat-ula-Khan,  129,  131,  134,  135 
Railway,  the  first  Chinese,  51 
Rakapushi  Peak,  318 
Ramsay,  Captain,  182,  191,  192,  195 
Ramzan,  the  interpreter,  227 
Rang-kul  Lake,  265 
Raskam,  153,  204 

River,  233 

Rawal  Pindi,  182,  183,  187 
Religion,  universality  of,  309 
Rhins,  M.  Dutreuilde,  278;  murdered, 
278 

Riffard,  M.,  25 

Roberts,  General  Sir  Frederick,  now 
Field-Marshal  Earl,  139,  182 
Rockhill,  Mr.,  184 
Rope  bridge,  crossing  a,  177 
Ross,  Mr,,  44 

S 

Sable-hunters’  huts,  12 
Sachow,  sand-range  at,  92 
Safder  Ali,  the  Hunza  chief,  226,  229, 
249,  251,  253,  254 
Saltoro  Pass,  200,  206,  207,  210 
Sandhills,  83,  90,  1 14  ; formation,  92 
S’an-pu,  1 13 
Sansing,  26 ; fort,  27 


Sarez,  264,  265 
Sarhad,  292 
Sarikolis,  the,  240 
Sarpo  Laggo  River,  158,  162 
Saser  Pass,  195 
Schlagentweit,  146 
Scottish  mission  at  Mukden,  44,  46 
Shahidula,  166,  186,  194,  197,  202, 
206 

Shahzad  Mir,  188,  189,  207,  217 
Shakhdarra,  264 
Shaksgam  River,  157,  158 
Shan-hai-kuan,  the  Great  Wall  at, 
49 ; forts,  50 

Shaw,  Robert,  i,  55,  130;  Political 
Agent  to  Yakoob  Beg,  146 
Sheitung-ula  Mountains,  79 
Shigar  valley,  177,  178 
Shignan,  240,  264 

Shimshal  Pass,  197,  200,  206,  214, 
215.  231,  261 

River,  223,  226 

Shor-Bulak,  242 

Shukar  Ali,  175,  190,  207,  210,  254 
Siberian  railway,  the,  38 
Simla,  183,  186,  187 
Sind  valley,  181,  188 
Skardu  district,  161,  180 
Skinmang,  176 
Sokh-bulak  Pass,  202 
Sokolowski,  Colonel,  Russian  Com- 
mandant at  Swanka,  32  ; his  hospi- 
tality, 34 ; on  the  Russo-Turkish 
war,  35 
Somatash,  263 
Sontash,  133 
Sprague,  Mr.,  59,  61 
Srinagar,  181 

Stewart,  Lieutenant  J.  M.,  295,  298 
Su-chow,  caravan  from,  96 
Suget  Jangal,  158,  214,  221 
Suget  Pass,  197 
Sung,  Mr.,  18 

Sungari  River,  13,  17,  21,  22,  27,  41  ; 

sources  of  the,  15,  16 
Surakwat  River,  154,  205,  206 
Swanka,  32 
Syrt  country,  133 


332 


INDEX 


T 

Tagarma  plain,  288 
Tagh-dum-bash  Pamir,  200,  234,  240, 
241.  243.  258,  259,  288 
Takhta-kuran  Pass,  204 
Ta-pu-ma  village,  112 
Tash-kupruk  Pass,  291 
Tashkurgan,  239,  241,  258,  288 
Taylor,  Mr.  Hudson,  67 
Tian-shan  Mountains,  79,  loi,  104, 
317;  ovis  argali  m,  100 
Tientsin,  52,  53 
Tirich  Mir,  318 
Tisnaf  River,  204 

village,  240 

valley,  240 

Toksun,  120 

Tragbal  Pass,  254,  301 

Travel,  impressions  of,  312-25 

Tsi-tsi-har,  23 

Tumen  River,  30 

Tung  River,  240 

Tungani,  the,  123 

Tupa  Dawan  Pass,  15 1 

Tu-pu-chi,  a Mongol  encampment,  90 

Turdi  Kol,  197,  204,  205,  226,  229 

Turfan,  116,  119 

Turkestan,  103  ; appearance  of  the 
men,  104;  the  women,  105,  113; 
the  races  of,  123;  great  central 
plain  of,  136 ; market-days,  151  ; 
its  physical  features,  143 ; character 
of  the  people,  144 
Turk!  women,  105,  113 
Turkis,  refused  protection  from  the 
Kanjuti  raids,  205 
Tyler,  Captain,  292 

U 

Ula-khutun,  99 

Uliasutai,  71 

Ulugh  Rabat  Pass,  288 


Uruk  valley,  234 
Ush  Turfan,  131 

V 

Victoria  Lake,  262 
Volcanoes,  extinct,  79 

W 

Wakhan,  244 

Wakhijrui  Pass,  241,  289,  294 
Wall,  the  guide,  150,  167,  168,  177, 
179 

Wall,  the  Great,  of  China,  49,  59 ; 

compared  with  the  Pyramids,  49 
Walsham,  Sir  John,  53,  56-8 
Wang,  General,  284 
Wazir  Dadu,  the  “Prime  Minister” 
of  Hunza,  248 
Webster,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  44 
Wells,  number  of,  115 
Williams,  Mr.,  59 
Wular  Lake,  188 

Y 

Ya-hu  oasis,  99 
Yakoob  Beg,  130,  137,  139 
Yalu  River,  6,  ii 
Yang-ho  valley,  62 
Yangl  Pass,  204 
Yang-sar,  126 

Yarkand,  142,  143,  149,  204,  257 ; 
Chinese  governor  of,  148 

River,  153,  200,  203,  206,  223, 

225 

Yarkhun  River,  291 
Yasin  valley,  147,  291 
Yeshil-kul,  263 

Yonoff,  Colonel,  264,  289,  292  ; his 
instructions  from  the  Russian 
Government,  293 
Yurts  or  felt  tents,  64,  242 

Z 

Zoji-la  Pass,  181,  189 
Zungaria,  desert  of,  loi 


FLYMOUTH 

WILLIAM  BRENDON  AND  SON,  PRINTERS 


P£KINC  TO  YARKAND 
KA.SHniU.R  vrA  TH&  MUSTA.&K  PASS 

illaatratiiig  thr  journeys  of 
if'tain  F £ Yuxm^usDaud.  Kin^s  Dragoon  Cunt 


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HAP  27 ’57 


